Fatelast call
by CaptainBeregond
Summary: The Grail Wars continue: seven new servants, seven new masters.
1. Chapter 1

It was dark when she awoke. She gasped, and air rushed in to her empty lungs. She moved her hands, and they rubbed against dirt. The small rocks cut at her skin, and the tiny particles clogged her pores. Bound between the minerals were signs of life – tiny bugs, aging fecal matter, dead skin cells. This was the darkness of the night, not the empty darkness.

She scrambled on the ground. Her muscles ached, unused for centuries. She fought the urge to scream and reached about until her fingers closed on a small rock. She picked it up and held it carefully. It was not a rock of any importance or meaning. But it existed, and that meant she did, too.

There were tasks yet undone. It was time for the hunt to begin. The last false hunt. And she was the hunter.

* * *

A quick gust of wind raced through the catacombs, and the torch flickered and died. Marie Collard cursed in the darkness. She could find her way back to the bustling streets of Paris above easily enough, but even though she sometimes referred to the tunnels as home, they were always something unnerving about the darkness. It seemed to gnaw at her bones, sucking away at her lifeforce. She was sure it was her imagination, but a lifetime of trusting her instincts to survive wouldn't let her ignore it.

She was fumbling through her pockets for an emergency flashlight when something bit her hand. She yelped and spun about in the darkness, ready to fight. The rats weren't usually this aggressive. Her hand continued to burn, and she realized it was glowing faintly. She could see the red shapes in the darkness, an intricate pattern of ruby swirls woven together in a triangular knot. They were definitely on her hand – they moved when she waved it, leaving a soft trail in the air. The design flared brightly, and then vanished, leaving her in the dark again. It was not a rat bite.

She exhaled slowly and took a succession of deep, slow breaths. The dark liked to mess with her head, but never that badly. "What," she asked, "Was that supposed to be."

"Perhaps if you could manage a light, I could explain," answered the darkness.

She jumped back, straight into the wall. Her head smashed through the edge of a rotting coffin, and she collapsed to the floor.

* * *

"Now you've done it," said Handa Madazuri.

Kiriyama's smile could have brought down nations. "I know. Isn't it amazing?"

Handa rubbed his forehead. "They'll expel us for sure this time."

The Occult Studies club met in the geography room. It was a small classroom covered wall to wall by intricate and detailed maps. Kiriyama Mako had covered it was at least two buckets of paint. Handa frowned as his eyes tried to follow the shape. She had clearly been trying to make some sort of summoning circle, but had miscalculated. The outer circle ran out of space of the floor and ran up onto the walls. She hadn't bothered to move the maps out of the way. Strange glyphs were distorted out of proportion, bent in fit around the few desks and cabinets.

"See!" Kiriyama waved a book in his face, and he could indeed see the diagram she had attempted to make.

"The summoning of Servants," he read.

"That doesn't sound too dangerous." The third member of the club had arrived. He leaned casually against the doorframe and eyed the circle warily, "Though that's an awful lot of glyphs for a simple spell."

"It's a full ritual!" said Kiriyama. She started flipping pages faster than Handa could read them. He thought he saw the word 'war' a few times, but he couldn't be sure. "It's not just a homunculus, it'll summon a real hero!"

"And also it's magic," noted Handa, "which isn't real, so it will do nothing but ruin the last room in the school we're allowed to use. How you imagine they'll make us make up for this one?"

Kiriyama sniffed and tossed the book aside. "We've clean it up when we're done. Let's get something to eat until this draws, then you'll see. They won't say anything when we have our own magical Servant."

* * *

When she opened her eyes, nothing changed. Marie blinked thrice in confusion, then remembered she was in the tunnels. The pitch black seemed somehow darker than before. She reached for her flashlight, but scraped her hand across the rocky wall.

"Good," said the darkness, "You're awake."

She stopped moving. "Who are you?" she asked, "How long have I been unconscious. What did you do?"

"One and a time, please."The voice spoke calmly, but it was very precise. Something about the tone made it seem important.

Marie swallowed and blinked again, uselessly. "Who are you?"

"My name.." the speaker paused, "I am called Lancer. That should suffice."

"That's a strange name."

"What were you expecting, Saber? I'm better anyway." The speaker seemed insulted. Marie wished she could see.

Her hand finally closed around the flashlight in her pocket. She clicked it on and off, but nothing happened. It must have broken when she hit the wall. "I don't suppose you have a light?" she asked.

Almost immediately, a pale red light began to fill the cavern, dancing down the walls and flickering from skull to skull. The speaker – Lancer – was leaving against the wall opposite. The first thing she noticed was how tall he was – almost two meters, and he wasn't even standing upright. The second was his clothes, if they could even be called that. He was wrapped in metal, like some form of ancient armor. A heavy red cloak pooled at his sandalled feet. He carried a spear, the metal point of which seemed to be the source of the red light, though it didn't appear to have any sort of electric power.

"How are you doing that?" asked Marie.

"The light?" Lancer shrugged. His cloak shifted and rippled in the weird glow. "It's a simple charm. Do you not know it?"

Marie shook her head. "No. I mean, I have a flashlight, but that's not a normal light. What do you mean by charm?"

Lancer frowned. "I'm starting to get the impression that you're not a particularly skilled magus." Marie stared at him blankly. "Your collection is quite impressive though. I do wonder how you acquired it with such rudimentary talents. Your presence on the battlefield must be tremendous."

"Beg pardon?"

"It's rather bleak, though. You cold use a decorator, if you don't mind my saying so."

Marie took a moment to parse the stranger's intentions. "I don't live here. Not most of the time anyway."

"These aren't your-"

"Not my skeletons."

Lancer said something in a language she didn't recognize, probably a curse. "I'm beginning to rethink some of my assumptions. This whole process is rather disorienting." He stood up, but we forced to slouch again under the low ceiling as he walked toward Marie. He placed his spear point down and knelt in front of her. "I ask you – are you my master?"

"Sorry?"

"Are you the magus who summoned me to participate in the Holy Grail War?"

"What's a-"

Lancer held up a hand to cut her off and stood up. "I have a bad feeling about this. Please tell me you're not going to ask me what the Holy Grail War is."

"I wasn't going to," said Marie.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Lancer looked at her expectantly. "What's a magus?"

* * *

"Donald!" Donald Waterman was trying to sleep. The jet lag was bad enough, but the drinking on top of it had been too much. He decided to ignore his name.

"Donald!" Someone was pounding on the door of his hotel room. He rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head, but the pounding continued.

"Donald!" He hurled his pillow at the noise. Instead of crashing into the wall with a satisfying thump, the lightly fluffed pillow floated softly to the slid and slid away.

Donald rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the door. "Worryawant," he murmured, opening it slightly.

It was Rudolph Thorn, the magician. Also known as Rudolf Thorn the Magnificent, also known as Rudolph Thorn, his boss, or, unfortunately, Rudolph Thorn, the idiot. "Oh good, you're awake."

"No thanks to you."

Rudolph ignored the remarked and lifted the security latch, letting himself into the room. "You're a good man, Donald," he said. Donald groaned. This always signaled the start of some long speech. "Always there when I need you, always ready to help. I really appreciate it, you know."

"Of course," said Donald. He glanced at his desk to make sure he hadn't accidentally left any notes out. It was clear.

"And you are without doubt the brightest man I've ever met. Have I ever told you that?" He had, usually right before he asked for money. Or worse, a favor. The magician began to walk around the room, kicking aside the pillow. "That's actually why I'm here. At the moment, I mean, not philosophically speaking or anything. You see, I need your help. I can trust you, right?"

"What do you want?" Every thing about Donald's expression, posture, and tone suggested that the real meaning of his words was 'No.' Rudolph didn't notice.

"Answers, Donald. I am troubled, my old friend, by a great many things, many, many, things."

"Start with the most important," said Donald, "I'd like to get breakfast before noon."

"Oh, it shouldn't take nearly that long. I need a new trick, Donald. We've been running the same show for three months now. I'm bored!"

"It's a four month tour. That's sort of the point.

"But that can't make people happy," the magician protested, "It will seem stale! They've seen it all before."

"That's why it's a world tour. They probably haven't heard of you on this side of the planet, anyway." Rudolph blanched, so Donald quickly decided to change gears. "Maybe let's start with the easy questions instead, shall we?"

The magician smiled. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Donald. You make excellent plans. The easiest question... that would be, I think, why do I have such a horrid headache?"

"Jet lag. Or more likely the thirteen daiquiris you had in the lobby last night. Probably both."

"Is that so? Remind not to do that again." Donald always reminded him. It never worked out, so sometimes he got him drunk fast enough that Rudolph passed out before he got into any trouble. Last night was not one of those times.

"Next question, then. Why am I wearing women's clothing"

"Same answer, plus a bet you made with a rather sketchy looking German. You should probably take those off." He caught his mistake just in time. "In your room, on your own time, when we're done talking. Next question."

"Why do I have a tattoo on my hand?"

"Same answer." Donald paused. He don't remember any tattooing incidents. "Actually, let me see that." He grabbed Rudolph's hand. A strange tattoo stretched from the back of his palm up beyond his wrist. Three red curves ran along the central finger bones, then entangled each other before flattening out into a band over his forearm. Donald sensed the power and quickly let go. It was the sign of a master, a design worked by the Holy Grail itself, not any mortal tattoo parlor.

He hadn't expected it this soon. Still, he had been preparing for this day long enough. "You should really quit drinking," he smiled at Rudolph, "I'm sure we can get it taken care of. It gives him an idea of a trick, though. Give me some time to work out the details, and maybe we can have it ready by the time we hit Tokyo. Wear a glove, for now. We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

* * *

It was evening in Fuyuki City. The sun had already vanished behind the horizon, but the buzzing street lamps kept the city lit for those who did their business in the night. But not all men flock to the light, and some business is best left in the shadow.

Takanashi Hayao had such business. He was sitting in a dead-end alley, watching the brief flickers of car lights as they passed by. Their drivers did not notice, or did not care, about the unmoving figure.

A police car raced by, sirens ablaze. Takanashi twitched slightly, a short jerk of his left elbow that broke the motionless facade. The car disappeared into the night, off on its way to some catastrophe or another, and Takanashi relaxed again.

Six more cars passed the alley's entrance. The cloud cover that had engulfed the city all week finally gave way to rain, and Takanashi began to think his contact was never going to come.

A motorcycle squealed to a stop in front of the alley, throwing up water from a freshly formed puddle. Three more slid into formation around it. All four riders were wearing the same black jackets, embroidered with a red dragon insignia.

"You're late," he said, rising to his feet.

The lead rider removed his helmet. He had a squat face with a scowl that was probably permanent. "And you're short. Do you have our payment?"

"Do you have my gun?"

The man jerked his head to the side. The second biker dismounted and handed him a metal suitcase. He tossed it onto the ground in front of Takanashi.

Takanashi stepped forward to pick it up, and in doing so stepped into the light. He was young, only a high-schooler, and quite slim.

"Is this some kind of joke?" asked the biker, "Sending some kid?" He drew a pistol. "Maybe I oughta send a message about respect."

Takanashi looked up at him, and the biker saw his eyes. The right one, that one was normal. It was the left one that struck fear into a weapons dealer. A huge jagged scar formed an X over the socket, which had been filled with an emerald. The green gem glinted with more light than was shined on it. Takanashi smiled. It was a hunter's grin.

The biker pulled the trigger. A bullet shot from his gun, hurled by the explosive force. It swam through the air, hurtling along its deadly trajectory. A light flashed, and that trajectory was just. The bullet embedded itself in the asphalt, impaled by a blue-fletched arrow. The biker looked on in shock as the missile vanished in a shower of blue sparks.

A figure coalesced into reality. He remained in the dark alley, but was impossible to overlook. The rain didn't seem to hit him, rather, it cascaded off a barrier about an inch around his imposing form. The vanished arrow reappeared in his hand, and his nocked it on his massive bow.

"Don't waste the ammo, Archer," said Takanashi, "They aren't worth the trouble. I'll take the leader, you can eat the rest."

The dark silhouette nodded, then vanished again. Rain filled in the outline where he had stood.

The bikers began to whimper. They tried to reach for their weapons, but slumped to their knees instead.

"Well," said Takanashi, "You were trying to have me killed, weren't you?"

The lead biker howled with rage and charged at the boy. Takanashi side-stepped the first punch and swept his legs out from under him. The man fell into a puddle. Choking on water, he tried to scramble to his feet. Takanashi kicked him in the back and slammed his head into the ground. The man gurgled once, and then was silent.

"You can have this one, too, if you want," Takanashi said.

"No good, "said Archer, "He's already gone."

Takanashi looked closer, and saw the man's blood was already turning the street water red. He pocketed the man's gun, then picked up the briefcase. He spared a glance toward still figures collapsed near their bikes and sighed. "I hope our real enemies show up soon," he mused, "This is beginning to get boring."

* * *

Life as a professor at the Clock Tower was a life of trifling business and miniscularities. It was not a life that suited Worthington Dragoon Verlangien in the slightest. The mountainous man took up a full third of his office, the remainder of which was festooned with vials and sieves, bubbling with unnaturally colored fluids. A small desk existed in the far corner, untouched save for piles of ignored papers stacked haphazardly on top of more papers.

Verlangien watched a small pipette drip blue potions into a steaming vat. He was so engrossed in his wait that the knocking on the door lasted a solid minute before his frustrated assistant shoved it open anyway.

Burke was small for a normal man, and doubly so next to Verlangien's bulk. His natural cringing posture enhanced the effect even more, allowing the man to become almost invisible. He was a rather poor sort of magus, but he was born to be a toady. "You'll be wanting to see this, sir," he said, proferring a rolled tube.

Verlangien grumbled, but did not turn away from his instruments. "Is it important?"

"Extremely," hissed Burke, "I dare say it's the most important thing I've ever seen."

"Is it more important than the dissolution of the Amethyrn Compact?" A spot of blue plinked into the vat and sizzled into purple smoke. "I'm very busy."

"It concerns the Holy Gr-"

The tube was torn from his hands before Burke finished the word. Verlangien unrolled it, revealing a rather gaudy poster. A young and far-too-perky looking idol was apparently on tour. The only English word on the poster was Nika – the Japanese script meant nothing to him, at least until he could find a potion of comprehension. He doubted very much they would say anything of import – the numerous pink stars asserted that Verlangien was not part of the idol's target demographic.

"Is this a jest?" asked Verlangien. Then he saw it. The fiery tattoo on her left hand, the red triangle mark. "A command spell," he whispered.

Burke nodded enthusiastically.

"It's far too early. Are you sure it's not an unfortunate tattoo?"

"I thought you'd say that." The toady produced a wad a newspaper clippings from his coat pocket and tries to unfold them. "Strings of gas leaks and missing persons in Fuyuki City. Far too many to be coincidence."

"Where did you get these?"

"You had me reading the girl's mail. The thought she ought not to see these."

"Excellent work. We are already behind, though. Bring me the relic and prepare the ritual immediately" Burke turned to leave, but Verlangien clamped down on his shoulder with a massive hand, "And arrange a fake newspaper to deliver to the girl. We can't have her growing suspicious."

* * *

Donald Waterman threw a blanket over the girl's corpse just a Rudolph Thorn burst into the back room. The magician was fresh from his act and dripping sweat through his finest tuxedo. "It worked!" he gushed, "Donald, it really worked!"

"Of course it worked," said the magician's assistant, "I wouldn't give you a bad trick."

"That's not what I meant." Rudolph was full of energy, gesticulating wildly. "It's _real_. You gave me a _real magic spell_."

"Well, you _are_ a magician," remarked Donald. "Shut the door."

Rudolph knocked the door with an outstretched arm and it swung shut. The distant murmur of the crowd was cut off.

Donald glanced at the body and made sure it was hidden. "May I see it" he asked.

Rudolph nodded energetically, and a swarm of blue light coalesced behind the magician. The figure that formed was muscular, yet slim, clad in leather and furs. Ornate chains of silver were draped around his neck. His face looked rather like a hawk, piercing eyes over a large nose.

Donald bowed ostentatiously. "Greetings, Rider. I apologize for the unorthodox methods of your summoning. I hope you will find this world to your liking."

"A world where charlatans command such armies?" intoned the servant, "I think I will find it much to my liking indeed."

"Perhaps," said Donald, "Though armies of commoners are of little consequence in our game."

"Game?" Rudolph interrupted, "What game? Oh, you must tell me, Donald. This sounds like such great fun!

Saber narrowed his eyes. "He does not know?"

"I had intended to summon you myself," said Donald, "When my friend received the command spells instead, well, I did what I could."

"I see," nodded Rider, "You plan treachery. Should I slay you now?"

"He won't let you," Donald looked the servant in the eye/ "I suppose you if you wanted to make him burn command spells, you could try, but it will make things the worse for you. I'm his best friend."

"You're my only friend."

"I know." Donald smiled softly and leaned in closer to Rider. "And I know you already know how terrible it is to be without a master. I'm sure having a powerful, unattached magus nearby could have its advantages."

Rider nodded. "I suppose it might. I wish there was such a man. For now, you and I must impress upon my master the importance of our cause and the role he must take up."

* * *

Marie curled up on an airport bench and tried to clear her head. She had traveled the length and breadth of Europe by train, but flying all the way to Japan was something else entirely. She didn't trust herself to stand up, much less fight in this war that Lancer spoke of. "This is hopeless," she sighed.

A heavily tanned foreigner sat down next her. "Don't say that," he said. His accent was strange, vaguely Russian, but not quite. "Why would you say a thing like that?"

Marie tried to sit up and be polite. She had to drape one arm over the back of the bench to hold herself upright. "Long story," she said,

"I've got time."

"I'm in this game, of sorts." She couldn't escape the conversation, but she didn't think telling a complete stranger about a death match for a mystical artifact was a good idea. "The odds are long, and I'm betting more than I want to on it."

The man nodded sagely. "I've been there. It's not fun to be there, but if you win, well, that's why you got in there in the first place isn't it? Focus on that."

That was it, of course. The Holy Grail. That was the grand prize, that was what Lancer had been summoned into existence for. It wasn't so much that she wanted anything from it, but just to be able to see it, to prove it existed, that would justify everything. To actually be able to claim it was unimaginable. "I suppose you're right," she said. "Thanks. I feel better now." She straightened her neck and held out her hand. "I'm Marie. Marie Collard."

The stranger took her hand and she gasped. "Charmed," he said. Marie felt nauseous, like she was back on the plane, only this time dangling upside-down in the cargo hold while the pilot flew loops. "A word of advice," the man continued, "Don't act so down in front of Lancer. He might decide to abandon you for a better master." He dropper her hand and stepped away into the crowd.

Marie stuttered, "Wait, what?" She leaped to her feet and started after him, but the man had completely disappeared.

When she got back to the bench, Lancer was standing by her spot, holding a pair of drinks. He had traded his ancient armor for a brown casual suit, and looked almost fitting among the throngs of international businessmen. His size, however, was undisguisable, and he drew several glances from passers by.

"That," he said, "Was Assassin. The only reason you're not dead is because the war hasn't officially started yet. Even he has to play by the rules." He handed her her drink. "I know you're new at this, but you need to be more careful."

"Started?"

"The war doesn't begin until all the servants are summoned."

"When will that bad."

"Soon, I should think. Magic is not my strong suit. I would guess there's only one more spot left."

* * *

Caster stood on the roof of the banking building of Fuyuki City. It was five stories taller than the nearby skyscrapers, and afforded him an excellent view of the moonlit town. "It's a beautiful view, isn't it?" he said, "Thousands and thousands of people walking around, working, playing, breeding. Living out their own, tiny stories. They don't seem to fear death at all. Not at all like in our day, is it, Rider?"

"No." Rudolph Thorn's Servant materialized next to him. "'Tis a wondrous thing."

"Hardly," Caster chuckled, which turned into a raspy cough. "They do not fear death because they do not know it. This is a city of fools, not heroes.

"There are heroes in it now."

"Yes, to fight in this... game. That is no act of heroism, only greed. I will tell you straight, I have no desire of the Grail. I have held, still hold, power enough for one man."

"Then I have one less foe to face on the battlefield. Would you care to formally surrender?"

"You misunderstood me." Caster folded his hands inside his robes. "I came here tonight because I wanted to see you. I want to make sure the Grail goes to one who deserves it. I fear for the safety of this world if a man such as you should touch the Holy Grail. I feel obligated to warn you that I was put my greatest effort towards your defeat."

"A kind gesture. I suppose I should warn you that it will not matter. I will take the Grail for my own. You seem to know me, though, and I do not know you."

"I lived somewhat after your time. I grew up on stories of your misdeeds. Where I am from, they speak of you as a demon who stalks the night, a malevolent force of evil."

"And you're frightened of children's stories?"

"Hardly."

Rider grinned from ear to ear. "You should be." He vanished into flecks of light.

Caster nodded. "At least this time things will be more interesting." Then he vanished, too, and the rooftop was empty.

* * *

"To once again preserve this world from darkness, I summon you, servant Saber!" The powerful voice of Worthington Dragoon Verlangien cascaded through the dungeon far below the Clock Tower, fading into silence as he completed the ritual. The lights dimmed, and the alchemical diagram began to grow as it hummed with power. The hum grew to a roar. Verlangien leaned forward with anticipation, as did Burke, standing beside him as ever.

A burst of bright white light threw them back. When their vision stabilized, the diagram was shattered. The stone floor had cracked the circle in twain, and smoke drifted up around its edges.

Verlangien peered at the wreckage through squinted eyes, then motioned for Burke to move forward. The small man scurried up, paused, then tentatively poked the circle with his finger. White sparks shot into the air and Burke was thrown against the wall.

"It has already begun, then," said Verlangien. Burke slowly pushed himself back to his feet, wincing in pain. "When it mellows out, bring me the hauberk."

"Where-" Burke grimaced and bit his tongue. "Where will you be? Sir?"

Verlangien harrumphed. "I will go east. It seems the servants have all been summoned. Perhaps if one is defeated, there shall be room for me to summon another."

"But, sir-"

"Are you questioning me, Burke?" Verlangien interrupted. "After all these years? Have you forgotten what happens when you question me?"

"No, sir," Burke stammered, "Only I thought the servants held powers far beyond any mortal."

"They do. But a servant in the hands of an amateur is no match for a talented magus. I shall simply identify the weakest master and destroy him. The rest should be quite simple after that."

* * *

Handa Madazuri's phone was ringing. The boy was fast asleep in front of his computer screen. The monitor held only an open text document overloaded with gibberish input by the side of his head. The phone continued to ring, and something in his subconsciousness heard the noise. He left hand spasmed, searching for the phone. Somehow he managed to press the answer button before it went to voicemail.

"Handa?" the excitable female voice on the other end snapped him into wakefulness. "You're too slow answering the phone, honestly. Did you get the book I sent you?"

"Book?" He didn't remember any book, but that could have just been grogginess. "What time is it?"

"Three AM. Wait." The voice shifted to a suspicious tone. "Were you sleeping? How we are supposed to get anything done if you're sleeping on the job?"

"If I sleep tonight, I'll be more efficient tomorrow."

"No, that doesn't make any sense at all." Handa sighed. He should have known from day one that joining the occult studies club was never going to end well. Kiriyama Mako was the club president, and this was not the first time they'd had a discussion like this. He suspected sometimes that she didn't sleep at all. One time he had caught her napping on the roof during lunch, but she had denied it fervently, claiming to be meditating on ley lines.

Handa had laughed it off. The supernatural was a fun distraction from everyday life, but it was a pleasant fiction. Kiriyama seemed to revel in it. Attempting to use a spell from some forgotten spellbook was something only she would actually go ahead and do. He thought about stopping her, but once she had painting the diagrams it was far too late. At least it hadn't involved any blood sacrifices.

What he hadn't expected was that it would actually work. He and the others, Mishima and Haruka and Shoken, had fixed up her lines and distracted the teachers while she said the words, and an ancient spirit had materialized in the circle. He called himself Saber.

And he was knocking on Handa's window. The glass pane shuddered under his monstrous knuckles, so Handa hurled it open before it broke. The otherworldly figure handed them a thick tome labeled "On the Foundations of Fuyuki City."

"My Master bids you read this," he said. "And to meet her on the school roof at dawn. Do not be late." The message delivered, it vanished into the night.

Handa put a hand on his forehead. "Did you really just send a 3,000 year old legendary figure summoned from beyond the grave to give me a book?"

"Yes," said Kiriyama without the slightest trace of self-realization, "Make sure you're finished reading it before our meeting. See you there."

* * *

"Explain to me," said Hoshi Kazuo, "Why sixty percent of my men have vanished in the last week." The Yakuza boss was in an uncharacteristically upbeat mood. Koujin could tell because he still had fingers, though he suspected that wouldn't last long.

"No one's seen anything, boss," he reported, "I checked everywhere, I swear. Even called in contacts in Suzuki's office. Nothing. Could be those gas leaks, maybe?"

"Gas leaks." The old man rose from his chair. The gathered subordinates gasped. He hadn't done that since he drove the last of the Fujimura clan out of the city. He stretched his back and the years seemed to fall away from him. He retrieved his ornate katana from the wall mounting behind him. Koujin swallowed. He knew where this was going. "Are you telling me that gas leaks are particularly adept at hunting down and killing your brothers in dark alleys? Why is that exactly?" He drew the blade from its scabbard and checked the edge. "Do gas leaks owe me an exorbitant sum of money? Or perhaps you killed gas leaks' parents in one of your drunken shootouts? Or perhaps the Triads have hired gas leaks in a desperate bid to take over my territory"

Koujin tried to answer, but only gasped wheezed escaped his mouth.

"You know," said Takanashi Hayao, "You're essentially correct." The young man had been standing in the corner for sometime, unnoticed. Kazuo's bodyguard's leaped up, drawing a motley of swords and guns. Takanashi waved his hand and they froze in place. "My parents owed you a good deal of money, and you had them shot for it. I don't know where they came up with that bit about the Triad, though. Can't say I care. What I do know is that regardless of my personal feelings, you exert far too much influence, bad influence, on this town, and I need to out of the way before the war starts."

Hoshi Kazuo walked toward him, slowly at first, then faster until he was running. The Yakuza boss swung his katana overhead, but the blade seemed to slow in midair. The curved metal dropped at a snail's pace, until Takanashi held up a finger against the blade. "I am impressed that you could resists my _Solid Air_ at all," he said, "so I will at least allow you to know your end." Archer materialized next to him. The pale, bearded man was clad in patchwork of plants and hides, pinned together by arrows. A large, recurved bow was slung over his back. "This is Archer, a servant, a being of magic. He feeds on souls."

Archer walked to the nearest bodyguard and casually ripped out his throat. Blood dripped from the wound, and Archer collected it in his hands to drink. The dead man stayed standing, held up by _Solid Air_ as his wide eyes dimmed. "I wanted you to see this," said Takanashi, "Because I wanted you to know what I am sparing you. Yes, sparing. If you die, others will come in your stead. I simply want you to leave. Tell your masters in Tokyo of your humiliation. Tell them that I control this city now, and, most importantly, tell them to stay out of my way." His emerald eye sparkled as his spoke, emphasizing his point.

Hoshi's eye's narrowed. "And if I don't?"

"You will. I can find you anywhere, anytime. And after watching Archer finish eating this entire room, I don't think you'll be inclined to disobey at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The mountains to the west of the city drew Marie's attention first. The people in town had been more than willing to tell outlandish stories about Ryuudou Temple's sudden destruction some years prior. They held the ruins in unnatural awe, and the explorer knew she had to venture into the ruin She justified the decision to Lancer as a good place for a secret base.

The former temple grounds were now a crater, as though a huge meteor had impacted the mountainside. The underbrush had started started to go back, obscuring the crater's rim, and small saplings peeked through the dirt. It wouldn't be long before the area was wooded again. The stairs that lead down to the city were the only sign that there ever was a temple here.

Marie took out a flashlight. She preferred torches, but she couldn't take them on the plane. She scrambled over the lip, and scree groaned beneath her shoes as she slid towards the center of the crater. Large rocks had fallen haphazardly around the city, and she hoped one of them hid the entrance to the rumored caverns below.

"Hold." Lancer materialized at the top of the stairs. "Go no further. It is not safe."

"Of course it is," said Marie, "I do this sort of thing all the time."

"That is not what I meant," said the servant, "There's a boundary field here. I cannot pass."

Marie shrugged. "Then wait here. I'm exploring."

"You could be attacking. This place is not right."

"If you're blocked by this field, then so are the others, right? This is the safest place in town."

"Not true," Lancer bit his tongue, "You are not a true magus. A proper master could easily supply the necessary means to allow a servant to pass, and a stronger one may even dispel it altogether. In fact, one of them probably set it up in the first place. It is likely a trap."

Marie looked at the entrance to the cave. She could see it now, a narrow opening between two boulders. The darkness seemed to speak to her, summon her. For a moment, she thought it strange, until she remembered how all mysterious places called to her such.

She banished the feeling and tore her eyes away. She started to breathe again. The cave could wait. At least, until this Grail business was done with. Then she'd come back.

"Alright," she told Lancer as she pocketed the flashlight, "It's your job to find us a place to stay, then. I don't mind living in a cave, but I can't dematerialize like you and I need to sleep somewhere."

* * *

Handa Madazuri lay on a short bench on the school roof, browsing through the heavy tome he had received the night before. He had decided sleeping was more important than finishing it on time. He seemed to have been the only one who dared risk Kiriyama's wrath. The two upperclassmen had fallen asleep already, and Mishima hadn't managed to make it to the meeting. His absence had delayed its start, as Kiriyama refused to proceed until everyone was present.

If she had missed any sleep, she did not show it. She was using an old stick to spar with Saber. Despite her energy and her enthusiasm, though, it was obvious that swordplay was not one of her talents. She put all her effort into every swing and wound up tripping over herself when Saber stepped aside. Though her opponent was a spectral creature beyond human ken, Handa suspected that had little to do with her inability to land even a glancing blow.

He looked at his watch again. Seven o'clock had come and past. "It's been two hours," he called to Kiriyama. The club president spun around toward his voice, forgetting her mock battle instantly. She hit herself in the foot with her makeshift blade and yelped.

"Call him again," she said as she rubbed her injured limb.

"I've already called him a dozen times," Handa said, ""And texted, too. If he was going to respond, he already would have." He suspected Mishima had simply found something better to do with his time than obey Kiriyama's absurd whims. It was most likely sleep.

Kiriyama didn't accept that explanation at all. Half an hour late (ten minutes of which were spent waking Shoken and Haruka, the four members of the Occult Studies Club, plus Saber, stood outside the missing fifth member's house.

Saber was ill at ease. "There is a foul stench in the air," he said, "Stay alert."

Haruka whimpered and cringed.

Kiriyama rang the doorbell, then pounded on the door with her fists. "Open up, you idiot! Your president's here!" No one answered. She pounded again and yelled louder. When that, too, proved futile, she kicked the door. She winced and clutched her already injured foot.

"Saber," she ordered, "Kick the door in."

"What?" protested Handa, "No, don't-" But it was too late.

The servant burst through the door and charged into the small house. A pair of vicious hooked blades had appeared in his hands. Just across the threshold, he stopped abruptly.

"Handa," he said. It was the first time he had used the boy's name. "Shut the door."

Handa stepped inside and pushed the door shut. It had been knocked free of its hinges and hung loosely over the frame. Kiriyama was already inside, and Handa heard a muffled chortle from her throat. Saber stepped aside, and Handa saw why.

Mishima's parents were lying on the kitchen floor. His father was lying in front of the table, his hands still clutching the newspaper. His father's head was lying some ways away, floating in the cat's water dish. His mother was slumped over next to the sink. The only mark on her was a large puncture wound under her ear. Her body was shriveled and dry.

A loud metallic noise startled everyone in the room. Handa and Kiriyama jumped. Saber moved in front of them, swords out. The servant slashed open the cabinet doors and leveled his other blade at the opening.

Mishima Ryuuji was hiding in the cabinet, curled up in a ball between the pots and pans. He was rocking slowly back and forth, and tears had carved wet paths across his face. His eyes stared past his friends, unblinking.

* * *

"This will work," said Lancer. He hand Marie were standing in an office. Wooden desks were arranged in neat rows, and drab brown offices lined opposite walls. The last wall was a large window, looking out on the street from seven floors up. It had taken them all night to find.

"An office?" said Marie, "People work here."

"Not anymore." Lancer ran his finger along one of the desks. It was covered in a thick layer of dust. "No one's been here in over a fortnight."

"I suppose you're right. Can I sleep, or will we be in danger?"

"We're always in danger, from here on out. But the Grail War demands secrecy. The other masters can't just march in under arms through the stairs and lobbies. They won't attack in the day."

Marie walked past the desks over to the window. "Someone could probably climb up here, if they really tried." The street below was tiny. She could barely see the cars.

"A servant could easily. But the view is good, and I can detect them early. They would not breach the wall with ease, and we would be at an advantage. Without a proper magus to cast a barrier spell, this is the safest place there is."

Marie sighed. She was not fond of offices. She had worked in them for a while, a brief while, but that was far too long. Abandoned places were her home. This place was abandoned, too, but it still carried that sense of order and rigidness that a living culture demanded. It was artificial. Her spine shivered. It hadn't stopped, really, since she met Lancer, but she was starting to get used to the feeling. "Alright," she said, "It's not pleasant, but it will do. With luck, one of those offices will still have a decent chair to sleep in. Wake me if anything happens, or at sundown. We'll start hunting for the others as soon as we can."

"Yes, master." Lancer made a crisp salute as he vanished into dust. Marie found one of the offices had a large, padded chair and managed to close her eyes. Neither of them noticed the cameras in the ceiling.

* * *

"You're late," said Takanashi. He was lying on a cot in his small apartment, watching a video on his computer. The walls were covered with printed maps, and the floor was a layer of empty soda cans.

Archer materialized behind him. "I was distracted."

"You found other servants?"

"I found ice cream."

Takanashi groaned as he failed to come up with a witty response. He turned his monitor so Archer could see. "Look at this. We caught one already." Lancer was on screen, standing guard in front of the huge window. "Either the Yakuza have hired some exceedingly foreign talent, or that's a servant. Lancer, judging from his spear."

Archer nodded. "Or Assassin. It's hard to sense his power through these electronics. I suspect we'll find out soon enough. Did you put traps, there, or just the cameras?"

"No traps," Takanashi frowned. There hadn't been time for that. If only they had found the fake base on the other side of town, he could have doused the room with poison gas. "The gang the took it from had it sound proofed though. If you can get in, you can fight without attracting attention."

"They'll have set up wards."

"On the doors, probably. But the window, Lancer's guarding it himself. I bet its not warded."

"Lancer's ward enough. I could climb it, but he'd have the high ground. It wouldn't be a fair fight."

Takanashi looked across his room. A large tarp was lying in a pile next to the door. "He's looking down, though."

"No," said Archer, "I won't use it."

"You won't?" Takanashi's emerald eye glinted. "Do I have to use a command spell?" The red runes on his hand seemed to be self-aware. They began to hum with red light.

Archer looked at them, then the monitor, and finally at his master. "No. I will go, and I will fight, if only to show you how ridiculous your brand of scheming is." The servant grabbed the bundle and stalked out of the room before his master could object to his resentful tone.

* * *

Rudolph Thorn was waiting outside security at the airport when Nika's entourage finally came through. The magician was opening for the idol's show the following evening, and he rather hoped to meet her before that. His newest trick was going to steal the show, and he knew it. He could see the headlines already.

"It's not a trick," Donald had said, and Rider had agreed. But what did they know about fame? Donald was a great guy, but Rudolph wondered how long it had been since he'd been outside. Rider supposedly was famous, but Rudolph had never heard of him before.

Rudolph muscled his way through the throng of fans as the first security guards walked out, followed by a woman in a suit. He jumped the ropes and paused in front of the group to bow. "The amazing Rudolph Thorn," he introduced himself, "I'll be joined your show this week."

"That's nice," said the woman. Two large goons in black t-shirts grabbed his shoulders, but the woman waved them off. "He can come with us. Nika wants to talk to him."

"She's not here?"

"Of course not. She flew in early to avoid this. Follow us."

Rudolph glanced at the crowd. The closest fans had overheard, and their expressions turned crestfallen in a heartbeat. He closed his eyes. Letting fans go... he couldn't fathom it. Perhaps it was because he wasn't famous enough. Yet. He thought of their expressions when he summoned an ancient hero on stage with real, actual magic! The people at the restaurant where he summoned Rider had been astonished, a stadium full of people would go mad. He'd be famous throughout Japan, throughout the world.

"Don't just stand there," said the woman. She had almost left the building while he had been lost in thought. Rudolph scurried after her. He'd have to be careful not to get so distracted until he was famous.

* * *

Handa shut the door to Mishima's hospital room slowly. Kiriyama stood from her seat on the bench outside. "Is he-?"

"He'll be alright," said Handa, "He's not even hurt, just shocked."

"Oh, that's good," said Kiriyama, "I mean, that he's not hurt."

"Yeah." Handa sat down on the bench, and Kiriyama sat down next to him.

"Do you think," she asked, "Do you think we're doing the right thing? Getting involved in this?"

Handa sighed. "The Mishimas... that wasn't us. They would've died no matter what."

"We could've saved them."

"We can still avenge them."

Now Kiriyama sighed. It sounded unnatural for her. "That sounds bad. I don't want to be a bad person. Do you think I'm a bad person, Handa?" She turned to look him in the eye.

"No," he said. He wanted to say more, but found himself distracted. He forced himself to look away. "Say it elsewise, then. We can prevent Caster from killing anyone else."

"Caster?"

"Mishima said it, before he went unconscious. He's the one that, you know."

"Caster, huh?" The energy started to creep back into Kiriyama's voice. "I bet he uses magic. I wonder what sort of spells he has. Maybe he can breathe fire, or shoot lasers!" The girl continued to ramble on for a few minutes, but finally trailed off again. "Handa?"

"Hmm?"

"If we win, if we get the Grail, the book says we can wish for whatever we want. What'll you wish for?"

"I don't get a wish. You're the master. I'm just.." What was he, anyway? He wasn't sure. "I'm just along for the ride."

"But if you could. In theory."

"I suppose, I suppose I'd bring Mishima's parents back."

Kiriyama hmmed. "Do you believe in Heaven?"

"What? That's a strange turn."

"No it's not. Reincarnation, then."

"I never thought about it. Why?"

"If there is an afterlife, of any sort. And you brought someone back from it, back to this world. Do you think they'd be upset?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

They sat in silence for a bit. Finally, Handa worked up the nerve to talk. "What about you? What will you wish for when you win?"

Kiriyama didn't say anything. Something heavy settled on Handa's shoulder. Kiriyama's eyes were shut, lost in sleep. Handa decided not to move for a while.

* * *

"Wake up." Marie jumped to her feet when she heard her servant's voice. "The enemy is here." The Frenchwoman stumbled out of the office. Lancer was staring out the window, shading his eyes. She squinted against the bright sun, trying to find what Lancer was looking at.

A hang glider curled around the building opposite, rising slightly as it caught a thermal. The man it carried was clearly more than human. He was at least as tall as Lancer and made no pretense of wearing safety gear. The glider turned and moved toward the window.

"Stay down," Lancer warned, "And don't try to interfere."

Marie ducked behind a desk. The glider zoomed straight for the window, then blinked out of existence.

It reappeared inside the room. The servant landed on his feet and unclipped the harness in one smooth motion. A bow materialized in his hand as he stepped forward and fell flat on his face.

Lancer was on top of him, spear pointed at the intruder's throat. Marie hadn't seen him move at all. Neither, it seemed, had his foe. "What- what did you do?"

"I cut off your mana source," said Lancer, "Don't try to escape. Where is your master, Archer?"

"My master?" Archer chuckled. "He'll be happy about this. He'll get to say 'I told you so.'"

Then Archer was holding a gun and shooting wildly. By the time Marie was done being surprised at the mundanity of the thing, a spray of bullets had shattered the glass window. Lancer was spinning his spear to create a shield. Marie only saw blurs as Archer moved, punctuated by sparks as his shots ricocheted of Lancer's impenetrable defense.

She heard a hissing noise, and smoke began to fill the room. She gagged as the gas entered her lungs and fell to her knees. Then Lancer was beside her, helping her to her feet. She took slow, deep breaths as the gas dispersed. "Archer?" she wheezed.

"Gone," said Lancer, "Out the window."

"How did he make the smoke? Was that his phantasm?"

Lancer shook his head and tossed an empty canister onto the desk. "Grenade. He didn't act very much like a heroic spirit at all." He looked out the empty opening where the window had been. "This is going to be a very strange war."

* * *

Handa went out with Saber and Kiriyama, leaving the other two club members to watch over Mishima in the hospital. The old Western style church on the edge of town had been chosen as their destination after a brief discussion. There were five confluences of mana in Fuyuki City, and Saber suspected Caster would try to use one of them as a base. Handa's book had named three of them, and a brief look at a map connected them with modern locations. The first was the park in the city center, which they rejected as being too overt. The second was the former temple grounds. They agreed it was a likely spot for a servant, but its lack of shelter inhibited its ability to function as a base. The third was the church, and so they went. They did not consider whether marching off to face Caster immediately was a good plan.

Kiriyama wasted no time in knocking on the door. Saber remained in his spirit form, but even Handa could feel the energy emanating from the servant, ready for battle. Handa himself had grabbed an aluminum baseball bat from his garage on the way over. He knew it was no good against the supernatural, but he felt better holding something in his hands.

A well-dressed man opened the door. He was foreign, but seemed to match the Western style of the building. "Good day," he said, "Welcome to Kotomine Church."

"Are you the priest?" asked Kiriyama.

The man laughed, "Hardly. I came by to find him myself, but it seems there's no one here these days. Come on in."

Kiriyama didn't need an invitation, she was already crossing the threshold. The man stopped Handa, however. "The church is neutral ground. Leave your weapons outside." Handa leaned his bat against the doorframe, mollified by the man's words, and went inside. "That goes for you, too, Saber."

Saber materialized in an eyeblink, his swords coming up to a guard.

"Neutral ground," said the man, "Technically, we're not supposed to enter at all, but the rules of this game are strange enough already. My blade rests there." He pointed to the gardens out front. An ornate sword etched with runic script was stuck in a rose bush. Handa wondered that he hadn't noticed it on the way in.

Saber threw his swords over his shoulder. They spun end over end and embedded themselves on either side of the other blade.

Handa muttered, "You trust him?"

"Hardly," said Saber, "But if he wanted to kill you, he already had the opportunity. For now, we talk. Beginning," he turned to the strange man, "With who you are and why you are here."

"Come inside," the man replied, "And we can talk."

The strange group walked inside the church and paced slowly through the pews. Saber stared at the stranger suspiciously. Finally, the man decided to talk. "I am Berserker," he said,

"You seem well-adjusted," said Saber, "For a mad-man. A flawed summon?"

"Hardly," said Berserker, "It's a nature of my noble phantasm. I assure you I can be quite... less-adjusted."

"We shall see. What are you doing here, then?"

"I had hoped to meet the others, or report to the organizers. I was given to understand this game had a more rigid ruleset."

"Stop." Kiriyama interrupted. Both servants turned to look at her. Handa did, too, but he suspected it wasn't his gaze she quailed under. "Stop calling it a game," she persisted, "People are dying."

"She is right," agreed Saber.

Berserker did not protest. "Unfortunately so. As I was saying, then, traditionally this... war.. .has overseers, people who are supposed to ensure civilian casualties are minimized, among other things. I have found none. I have, however, found some interesting records in the basement here, recorded by the last priest. You are welcome to peruse them yourself."

Kiriyama looked at Handa, and the boy knew what he'd be doing for the next few hours, at least. Hopefully there weren't too many.

"Could someone have killed the overseers to gain an advantage?" asked Saber. He glared at Berserker.

The other servant shook his head. "This church has been abandoned for years, so its unlikely. And that's not all. The masters this round, and I mean no offense, my lady, are of less quality than usual. None of the three families seem to be involved, either, though I have not yet identified all the masters. Plus, the records indicate that the last two wars had more powerful servants."

"You can judge power so accurately?"

"I am speculating, of course." Berserker shrugged. "Perhaps it is simply that I am the weakest one in this... war, though I think not. There is one last thing you should know, though."

"What is it?"

"The records suggest that the Grail was destroyed in the last war."

"But we exist," said Saber, "That's impossible."

"And that's what I'm trying to understand." Berserker gestured to a door. "I found the records in there. You can double check my findings. Please tell me I misread or misinterpreted something, for the situation makes little sense to me. But then, I am just a Berserker. For now, I have other places to be. May your blade strike true."

"And yours, until we meet again."

Berserker walked backed down the aisle and vanished as he stepped outside.

* * *

Nika's stage crew was already hard at work preparing the arena for the following night's performance. The idol herself had not shown up at the hotel after all, and now her manager was walking Rudolph Thorn through the complicated stage preparations. Rudolph Thorn was walking through the arena completely ignoring her. Donald would sort out those sorts of details for him later. All he had to do was put on the show. He simply nodded whenever the manager stopped talking and tried to decide what he wanted for dinner that night.

When he finally settled on a sushi place he had seen near the airport, he realized he'd been nodding at Nika herself for some time, and she was looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry?" he said.

The managed whispered in his ear. "She asked about the decorations. Do they look like proper magic?"

"Oh, right." The idol was apparently attempting to appeal to a certain crowd. She had dressed herself as though she had dumped a busload of tar into an antique clothing shop, and the walls and pillars of the arena were now bedecked with crude attempts at ritual circles. "Very realistic," he said, "You should be careful not to summon anything out of those." He laughed. He'd be doing all the summoning tomorrow.

Nika laughed back. She was far too cherry for her dismal outfit. Rudolph thought he had recalled her ads as having an overabundance of pink. Perhaps she was trying to change her image? That explained the discord between her garb and her enthusiastic face. "It means a lot," she said, "Having a proper magician open. I hope my fans will be as excited as I am." She brushed her bangs away from her eyes. Her right hand bore a trio of red seals.

Your fans will my my fans soon enough, Rudolph thought, but he was wise enough not to say it out loud. "It's a pleasure to open for such a talented young-" He recognized the markings on her hand. It wasn't exactly the same, but the red color, the three lines, it was unmistakably the same markings that were on his own. Donald had tried to explain it to him – that meant she was a master, right? The crude diagrams suddenly seemed ominous. He realized now why Rider had wanted to accompany him. Even everyday life wasn't safe any more. This girl could have killed him, could still kill him, at any moment. The manager he had been following all day, was she really a servant in disguise? Would she vanish into the air, like Rider did, and reappear, armor-clad, with a sword at his throat? He remembered his sentence. "singer," he finished, "I, uh, have to go now. My act requires quite a bit of preparation, too, and I don't have nearly as many people on my staff as you do."

"Of course," Nika smiled, "I won't keep you. I have work to do, myself. I look forward to seeing you try magic tomorrow." Was that a threat? Had she said 'try' to get on his nerves? Maybe she did know he was a master. Donald had made him wear gloves, though, so she couldn't have seen the seals. Unless one of the gloves had slipped. Had it? Or had she known from the start, and arranged everything months ago? He beat a hasty retreat from the arena and took the first cab back to his hotel, where he locked himself in his room for the rest of the day.

* * *

As day turned to night, a thick fog rolled out over Fuyuki. The growing sense of foreboding that had permeated the city for the last week grew to its height, and the streets emptied themselves. Even the 24-hour shops shut their doors.

Handa looked out from the hospital window as lights across town flickered off one by one. Even at home, no one was inclined to stay up late. He felt fear tug at his heart, and he drew the blinds shut and turned away from the window.

The hospital was white and bright, but even here, that ominism persevered. Lights flickered, and the buzz of fluorescents seemed even more high pitched than usual. This was a city under siege, even if most of its inhabitants were unaware.

"Madazuri?" Handa jumped a foot off the ground at the sound of his name. Mishima laughed at him from his hospital bed. Handa started laughing, too, and the cacophony of giggles drove away the uncertainty.

"Why are we laughing?" asked Handa.

"I don't know about you," said Mishima, "You just looked so pensive and serious, but then you jumped like a frightened lamb."

Handa chuckled again. "I suppose I did. I'm under a bit of stress. Obviously."

"Yeah, me too."

"It's good to see you awake," said Handa, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Mishima paused, "Physically, anyway. Is that guy we summoned still around?"

"Saber? He's guarding the front door with Kiriyama. Why?"

Mishima sat up in bed. "I wanted to talk to him before he went after Caster. Wanted to tell him to break that creep's face extra hard."

"I think he will anyway."

"Give me a hand," said Mishima, "I need to stand up. Lying in this bed is doing me no good a all. Do we have any weapons?"

"I have a bat." Handa pulled Mishima out of the plain cot and nodded at the aluminum bat resting in the corner.

"Won't help much against monsters."

"No, but it feels better to have it. It's not like I can buy a runic sword at the corner shop. Maybe I can sneak up behind a master or something."

Mishima looked around the room. "You only brought one? What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Handa shrugged, "Distract them."

"Sure, that'll work. Then I'll see my folks again."

Mishima's voice cut of awkwardly. Handa couldn't manage an appropriate response, so he stared at the wall instead.

Mishima picked up the bat. "I'll borrow this for now. I need to get something to eat. There's got to be a vending machine around here somewhere, right?"

He reached for the door, but it exploded inward. Saber flew through, backwards, and slammed into the bed, tumbled over it. He crashed into a pile of medical equipment, and sparks shot about the room.

* * *

Lancer charged in after his prey. Marie loped after him, unable to match her servant's speed. The enemy had recovered from the blow and was rising, but Lancer held off, his titular weapon leveled.

"Step away from the kids," he said.

"I will not." The other servant held his ground, and Marie finally got to see him as anything other than a blur of action. He was shorter than Lancer, but stockier. His hair, both on his head and chin, was braided and he carried a pair of short blades with wicked-looking curves. Judging from his skill with them, he was probably Saber.

His imposing figure was offset by the two boys cowering at his side. One was staring blankly in fright, the other seemed to have tensed up entirely. Marie held out her hand to them. "Come here," she said, "Slowly. I won't let them hurt you."

The tense one looked at Saber and then slowly began crossing the room. The two Servants glared at each other as he walked, one foot at a time. Each Servant was waiting for the other to move.

But it was the boy who moved first. Marie cried out in pain as he smacked her in the head with a baseball bat. By the time she hit the floor, the Servants had acted. Saber pushed the other boy aside as Lancer charged. Having sacrificed his dodge for the child's sake, Saber took the spear thrust his side. Lancer pushed him to the ground.

"Where is your master?" he asked.

Saber was more forthcoming than Archer had been. "Behind you."

Marie struggled to turn her aching head. The boy who had hit her was now holding his bat defensively, guarding a girl about the same age. Lancer was moving toward them, raising his spear. He was going to kill them.

"Stop!" she ordered. She felt a strange tingling sensation in her hand, and watched as one of the sigils disappeared into the air. Lancer halted mid-strike, the point of his lance a hairsbreadth from the girl's face.

* * *

"You blew it." Takanashi didn't bother to look up when Archer returned. It was well past midnight.

"I escape from a no-win situation," Archer said, "And I revealed nothing about the extent of my powers."

"Because you lost in a matter of seconds." Takanashi stood up and looked Archer in the eye. "I'm not even sure why you have the right to be a heroic spirit. Hercules could have won that fight with ease."

"I'm not Hercules," said Archer.

"No," said Takanashi. "You're not." There were barbs in that phrase, and Takanashi knew it.

Archer loomed over his master. "Perhaps if you were a better magus, you would have actually summoned the servant you wanted. Then we wouldn't have to deal with a half-rate kid who forces me to use cheap tricks just to survive."

"If I hadn't summoned you, you wouldn't exist at all."

"And I'd be the better for it." Archer spun around. "I think I'll go fight this war myself. After I win, I might even let you use the Grail anyway. Maybe you can wish yourself a better magus."

"Maybe I will, but you couldn't be a better hero even if you used the Grail."

Archer felt the air solidify around him. "You know your one talent has no effect on servants, right? You'll be dead within the hour."

He dematerialized, and the air hummed as it rushed to fill the empty space. Takanashi hurled his keyboard angrily, but caught it with his magic before it hit the wall and dragged it back to his bed. A few keystrokes opened up a map of Fuyuki City. Spirals of X marks ran throughout the outskirts, getting closer and closer to the center of town. He tabbed over to a database of news clippings and began to insert more data points. He didn't need a servant to win the war. He could manage it himself, and he still had command spells if he really needed him. Which he wouldn't.

* * *

The lance seemed frozen just in front of Kiriyama's face. Handa reached out with the bat and slowly nudged the lance away. Lancer let him do it, but the servant's eyes were filled with rage. He looked toward his master. The woman was getting up slowly; she had a massive welt where Handa had hit her.

"We didn't come to the hospital to kill children, Lancer," she said.

"Neither did we," said Handa. He cursed at himself inwardly, surprised that he was speaking up. Kiriyama had gone rigid after her brush with death; he supposed he was picking up the slack. "We were waiting for Caster to attack."

"He wouldn't have," said Lancer, "Saber's presence is too obvious."

"Then the people here are safe," said Handa, "That's a win. Unless you were going to kill them."

"We're not," growled Lancer's master, "We're only going after masters. No civilians."

"Exactly," Lancer agreed, "So let me finish the girl. At the very least, cutting off her hand should do it."

"We're not attacking children."

"We're not children!" Kiriyama recovered her nerves at precisely the wrong time. Handa relaxed as she stepped around him to stick her fingers in Lancer's face. "I'm a Master. And Handa's my friend, so he basically counts, too. So you need to stop trying to kill us."

Lancer furrow his brow. "Why? I can and should kill you now."

"You'll die if you do, but that's not the point." Kiriyama tilted her head back, the way she always did when she was further ahead than everybody else. "There are seven servants in this war, at least one of whom is evil. Probably most of them. We're decent people, and so are you." Handa noted that she had no evidence to back this up, but chose not to mention it. "We'll team up and beat the others."

Lancer's master smiled. "I like you girl. What's your name?"

"I'm Kiriyama Mako. The boy in the corner is Mishima Ryuuji, and this no-hitter is Handa Madazuri."

"Hey!" Handa protested, "That didn't even make sense."

"You did hit her with the bat. You should apologize."

Kiriyama's word was law. "I'm sorry I hit you," Handa bowed.

Lancer's master looked at her servant, and he dematerialized his spear. "I'm Marie Collard," she said, "I'm sorry my servant attacked you. Let's work together from here on."

She stuck out her hand and Kiriyama shook it. "Until the end," Handa added, "You'll have to kill each other, then." Only Lancer was listening.

* * *

"Rudolph!" Someone was pounding on his door. Rudolph Thorn crouched in his fortress and waited. During the day he had converted his hotel room into something almost resembling a defensive position. He had strung blankets from wall to wall and bolstered them with pillows. He held a towel covered with broken glass in his fist, too. "Rudolph!" They had come for him, but he was ready.

The door swung inward. A towel tied to the handle was jerked solid, triggering a lever that launched a pillow into the air. Donald Waterman frowned as the down-filled missile slipped away from his face. "Rudolph," he said as he readjusted his glasses, "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Show me your hands!" cried the magician, "Show me your hands!" Donald held up his hands, palm first, then turned them around. Rudolph stood up, looking out from his fort. "You don't have the mark," he said.

"No, I don't. You're the master, not me." Donald stepped carefully around some shrapnel scattered on the floor. "What's this about? We have to go look for the other masters tonight."

"They're trying to kill me, Donald," Rudolph hissed, "They want my magic."

"Of course they are. But Rider is going to kill them first. That's why you summoned him. He's the strongest servant there is."

"But what if he's not? You said there were more! Six more, heroes all of them!"

"Yes, there are. But they're weak. I promise." Donald sighed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. The blanket construction sagged dangerously, but held. "You weren't nearly as worried this morning. I know you went out alone, though. What happened? Did you meet one of the other masters?"

Rudolph nodded.

"And he didn't kill you, did he? See, you're fine!"

"You're right, she didn't." He smiled. "She didn't kill me. She probably didn't even know I was her enemy. I wore gloves, like you said, and I didn't say anything strange, so she had no idea!" He hugged Donald. "I should have listened to you all along, old friend. I can win this."

Donald nodded and shoved the magician away from him. "You should always listen to me. Now tell me about this other master, and we'll come up with a plan to defeat her. But let's do it somewhere else. We ought to let housekeeping fix up this room.


	3. Chapter 3

Handa never really liked arcades, but Kiriyama seemed to revel in them. The constant barrage of sounds and flashing lights was like ambrosia to her. She moved from machine to machine, using Handa's money, and smiled the whole time, whether she was winning or not.

She also seemed not to care that she was risking her life just being there. Handa stood at her back, glancing around nervously. Every shadow was a servant and every pedestrian a master. No one gave them any trouble, though, not even to ask why they weren't in school.

Kiriyama captured a fluffy dinosaur in a crane game and stuffed it in her pocket. "That one was too easy," she declared, "Not that I mind, but I wish they'd try harder. I shouldn't have been able to win on the first try."

"Well, you did warm up to it, so it's not too surprising." She had taken one go at each of a dozen or so machines before she even got to that one.

"Hmm..." She scratched her chin. "Where should we go now?"

"Maybe some food," said Handa, "I think it's about lunchtime."

"You always think it's lunchtime, Handa."

"I do not," he protested, "And it is already after noon. Let's get something to eat."

They left the arcade, and Handa glanced back as surreptitiously as they could to see if they were being followed. He didn't notice a tail, but that didn't necessarily mean there wasn't one. He couldn't see Lancer, anyway.

The plan itself was fairly simple. Kiriyama had berated Saber for losing and forced the servant to do a workout exercise at the hospital. Since Saber was there to guard Mishima, Kiriyama would go out alone and serve as bait so that Marie and Lancer could take out any servants that attacked them. Handa refused to let her go alone, and so here they were, wandering around town on a Friday afternoon.

They found a small outdoor cafe fairly quickly and ordered some food. "You look happier today," said Handa, "I was starting to worry about you."

Kiriyama laughed. "There's nothing to worry about. Anyway, all you have to do is worry about yourself."

"About myself? Why, is there something I should be worried about?"

"You're skipping school. Doesn't that make you a delinquent?"

"Not if it's only once. Well, twice, counting yesterday. Besides, this war is more important than school."

"It's not your war, though." Kiriyama got somber again. "It's mine, and I pulled you into it. You, and Mishima too. You should have left, like Haruka and Shoken."

The elder members of the occult studies club had gone home. Kiriyama had berated them for a good hour, but they found that preferable to risking their necks. Handa had made them promise not to tell anyone about the war. He trusted them that far.

"Remember when we started the club?" he said, "You declared yourself president and made us all swear to follow your orders. Your war is our war. I'll follow you anyway. The others made their choice, but I won't abandon you. I don't think Mishima will, either, not once he recovers. You just need to stop worrying about it."

"What if I ordered you to stop following me? To go home and forget about the war, about servants, about everything."

"Even the Mishimas?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I said I'd follow you," said Handa, "If you order me away, I won't go."

"Promise?" She was being serious.

"Promise."

* * *

"They have no idea you're watching them, do they?" asked Berserker. The well-dressed servant had joined the crowds of tourists looking over the balcony at the top of the municipal tower. He could see Kiriyama and Handa at the cafe far below with his enhanced servant senses.

"Not at all," said Caster. The magician stood next to him, bundled up in an unreasonably heavy coat and scarf, "Lancer hasn't seemed to notice either, though. He's weak."

"I wouldn't dismiss him so easily, especially if he and Saber have teamed up."

"It does not worry me," said Caster, "Did you come here to fight or make small talk?"

"Neither." Berserker turned and walked toward the glass door that opened inside, and Caster followed. "I came to invite you to the concert. It seems the others are all attending."

"I know. I want to be there when the first master falls."

"You expect a casualty?"

"I know. It is written."

Berserker opened the door for Caster. "Do the writings speak of my master at all?"

"I had not looked specifically. There are more pressing matters."

"You may want to." Berserker shut the door behind Caster and vanished.

* * *

Mishima Ryuuji sat on a bench in the gym and watched Saber do sword drills. The servant had completed Kiriyama's enforced regimen of a thousand push-ups in a matter of minutes and moved on to combat work. The heavy weights had been pushed to the side, and none of the staff seemed particularly inclined to tell the large, armed man to leave.

The servant moved like a snake, whipping his curved blades in short, tight, arcs, changing directions at a whim. Occasionally he would lash out with a kick or punch directed at an imaginary foe. Mishima hoped they were imaginary foes, anyway. He supposed it was not unlikely that one of the other servants had the power of invisibility.

The day lengthened. Shoken and Haruka stopped by to drop off his homework. They shied away when Saber looked at them, and made excuses to leave hastily. Handa and Kiriyama didn't come back, but they hadn't summoned Saber to them, either.

It was unfair that they had left him behind. Everyone was acting like he was horribly wounded. He as perfectly healthy, though. He wasn't useless, at least, no more useless than either of them. He had a plan, though.

"Hey, Saber," he said. The servant halted mid-swing. "Check this out."

He took his prize out of his pocket, but the servant was nonplussed. "What are those papers?"

"These." He waved the objects in the air, "Are tickets to Nika's concert tonight. I was going to ask Kiriyama, but it looks like she hanging out with Handa now. So I thought, why don't I take a magical demon spirit? It'll be fun."

"These are passed for entertainment, then?"

Mishima rolled his eyes. "Yes! You really need to adapt to the times better, even if you are ancient."

Saber shook his shaggy head. "I have no need for entertainment. My wound is healed already, and it is time to fight."

"Thought you'd say that," said Mishima, "Check out the singer, though."

He held up the tickets for closer inspection, and Saber peered at the tiny image. "You think to entice me with women? I thought my master would have better friends than that."

"Her hand, look at her hands! She has that same mark Kiriyama does, and that other woman. So she's a master, right?"

"I see." Saber nodded. "Your powers of observation are excellent. I shall inform my master as soon as she returns."

Mishima shook her head. "No time. If we wait, we'll miss the concert, and who knows where that master will go next. The other servants won't dare attack a crowd, so we can sneak in and observe her to see if she does anything suspicious. Then we'll have something to report to Kiriyama when she gets back." Saber looked hesitant. "Or you can wait and tell her how you spend the entire day in one room. She'll probably kill you, even if you are her servant."

Despite the short time he had spent in this world, Saber knew he spoke the truth. He was forced to acquiesce.

* * *

Marie cut the lock on the fence with a pair of bolt cutters and pulled back the gate so the kids could get through. "You carry bolt cutters in your backpack?" said Handa, "Are you some kind of cat burglar?"

"I'm an explorer," said Marie.

"With bolt cutters?"

"Some places don't want to be explored."

Kiriyama was interested. "Ooh, have you been to-"

"Ssh!" Lancer cut her off. The small group ducked behind a trash bin as a security guard walked past.

Posters for Nika's concert had been posted all over town, and after past past giant billboards for a few hours, Handa had finally noticed the command spells on her hand. By that point, it was far too late to get tickets, and so the hasty plan to sneak into the arena was born.

Despite the haste of its conception, the plan proved simple. Security was focused on controlling the throngs of people at the entrance points, and once they bypassed the gates, no one was making further checks. Even Lancer didn't stand out overly much in the dim light.

The seats on the ground floor of the arena had been removed, allowing fans to swarm around the raised stage. Large pillars had been set up throughout the area, connected with flowing red draperies to create a vaguely supernatural aura. Kiriyama was the first to notice the designs on the pillars. "Look as those markings! Do you think they're magic?"

"There is supposed to be a magician opening for her tonight," said Handa, "Must be his."

"Wow!" Kiriyama ran away, shoving her way through the crowd to investigate one of the pillars more closely. "I think I've seen this one. Some kind of healing spell."

Lancer followed her. "It is," he said, "The worst sort of magic."

"Worst?" said Marie, "What's wrong with healing?"

"I suppose healing is inaccurate," said Lancer, "Better to say it prevents death. The Romans marked their crucifixes with such a design. Normally a man on the cross would die in a few days. With this rune, it could take weeks, or months. I once heard of a gladiator who they kept alive for five years. This is a vile spell."

A great gouge appeared in the pillar, bisecting the diagram. Lancer had cut it apart faster than a human could see. He glances over his shoulder casually, but Marie saw his eyes squint and his shoulders tense.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There are more servants here."

"Servants? Plural?"

Lancer nodded silently, and Marie switched to a whisper. She knew Lancer could her her despite the crowd. "Do they know we're here?"

Lancer didn't answer for a few seconds. "No," he finally decided, "Or at least, they may be aware of our presence, but not our identity or specific location. They don't seem to be working together, either. It seems we're not the only ones who thought to investigate this singer."

Marie looked through the crowd. Identifying a master or even a servant in this mess would be almost impossible. "This could get bad."

* * *

"Tails," said Rudolph.

Donald Waterman dragged the magician from his dressing room and straightened his bow tie. "What are you on about?"

"It's wrong, it shouldn't be like this. Probability has failed."

"You're not making sense. You need to snap out of it." Donald pulled at Rudolph's sleeves. He was constantly amazed how a man so skilled at sleight of hand could fail so miserably at dressing himself.

Rudolph pressed a coin into his hand. A mustached man stared back at Donald from the silver face. "Flip it," said Rudolph.

"No time. You're due on stage five minutes ago."

"Flip it." Rudolph grabbed his shoulders. His face was covered in sweat and he hadn't even gone under the spotlights yet. "Flip the coin."

"Alright, alright, settle down." Donald set the coin on his thumb and flipped it. The coin spun, twirling in the air. He caught it as it came down and slapped it on his wrist. He took his hand away and an eagle stared back at him. "Tails," he announced.

Donald flipped the coin. It came up tails.

"Again."

Tails.

"Again."

Tails.

"Again."

"It's a weighted coin, Rudolph. A child's trick."

"Of course its a weighted coin." Rudolph snatch the coin back and held it up to the light. "My father gave this to me, when I was a kid. He wasn't a proper magician, but he liked his tricks. Old man was always proud of me, you know? This coin, this coin shows heads, nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand. Before today, I've seen it show tails twice." He turned the coin around and looked at the bird. Donald had marked it as an eagle, but with the light on it, he realized it was a vulture. "The first time was the day I got it. We took turns, flipped it a thousand times just to see if we could really ever get tails." He put the coin in the breast pocket of his tuxedo. "The second time was the day he died. No good can come of this."

"Coincidence? You shouldn't believe in omens."

Rudolph shook is head. "I believe in magic. Don't you?"

'Well, believe in it after you show. Maybe it just means today's the day you become famous." Donald shoved him up the ramp turned the stage.

Rudolph caught his stride as he hit the wooden platform and marched out before the crowd like a conqueror. The sound system took up a deep, orchestral tone just as the audience began to quiet. Then the arena exploded in a ball of fire.

* * *

The explosion started by the stage, and fire rolled toward Handa like an oncoming train. The shockwave hit him first, lifting him off his feet. A strong arm wrapped around his torso and lifted him up, moving with the energy up to the second floor. His rescuer dropped him and he landed hard on the concrete, but the expanding fireball immolated the area around him. A servant was standing guard, holding a shield over him.

The fire passed quickly, and Handa could see again. His savior was tall and blond, clad in segmented plate. A bright blue cloth was draped over his chest, and the long white scarf wrapped around his neck seemed to float in the breeze long after the shockwave had passed.

Kiriyama was lying nearby, and Handa scurried over to her. She moaned as he lifted her up. She was a bit bruised, but she seemed alright.

"Bravo." A man was sitting in the row behind him, unperturbed by the destruction. He was cloaked as much by shadow as by cloth. The only visible parts of his body were a scraggly grey beard and a pair of wizened hands that clapped slowly. The people around him were in disarray. They screamed as they burned or clutched at limbs severed by shrapnel. Those who could ran toward the exits, and those who couldn't were crushed. It was clear that the man in the center of this destruction was Caster. "It's always nice to see some semblance of honor survives."

Handa moved between him and Kiriyama. "What do you want?" he growled. He found a sharp chunk of rock on the ground and reached for it.

Caster stood up, and his dark robes flared around him. "Very little, though I don't expect you to believe me. I am merely assisting in the judging of the worthy. The girl has not yet been judged, so I was not fit that she die to parlor tricks. You were simply nearby."

Handa's eyebrows twitched. "I'll kill you." He tried to keep his voice from trembling. Blood dripped from his hand where he clutched the rock.

"Perhaps I should not have had my servant rescue you." Caster kept talking, but began to walk away. A blade suddenly appeared, cold against Handa's throat. "You should not make threats while yours is away. Unless.." Caster stopped and looked to the arena below. "Never mind, it seems he decided to show up after all. Four ought to be enough. I had rather hoped to see Berserker fight, though. Pity. Revenant, finish Rider."

The last comment was directed at his servant. The blade at Handa's neck disappeared as the servant leaped away. Handa inhaled sharply. The shadowy robe faded into nothingness as Caster vanished.

Kiriyama coughed and sat up. "What's going on?" she asked.

* * *

The explosion took Archer completely unawares. He reacted just as the shockwave reached him, grabbed one of the strange pillars and spinning around it to avoid hurtling out of the arena. So much for having the evening off.

He cast aside the sweatshirt he had been wearing as a disguise and summoned his armor. Clad in a a panoply of bronze, he surveyed the damage and quickly pinpointed the source. Rider stood on the center stage, shielding that magician. The arrow left Archer's bow as fast as he could think about shooting it. It hit Rider's shield with the rest of the shrapnel, but instead of bouncing off, it stuck fast. Thick black tendrils spread across the metal plate. Where they reached the edge, they grew out of the shield like vines, but instead of growing upwards, they sought the earth and buried themselves in the ground. The rain of shrapnel continued to bounce off the trapped shield, but Rider could no longer carry it.

Archer shifted his aim higher and shot a second arrow. It arced over the shield's rim and passed behind it, but it hit nothing but the stage. Rider and his master had vanished. Archer swore and jumped down to the ground floor. He turned to run to the stage, but stopped as he sensed a familiar aura.

"Archer," said Lancer slowly. The last, harmless piece of debris drifted to the floor. "Sabotaging a public event. That's low, even for you." The spearman lunged forward. Archer danced away, nimbly avoiding the deadly speartip as it peppered the air around him. He could feel it sapping his power.

His master's tricks were crude and inconsiderate, but they could be effective. Archer spun to to the left and leaned away from a vicious sweep as he drew a pistol. He fired a shot at Lancer's master, then charged in at the servant. The speartip grazed his armor, but now he was on the offensive. Lancer was forced to block a barrage of quick punches.

The bullet spun in the air as it hurtled toward its target. Without the supernatural reflexes of her engaged servant, she had no chance to dodge.

A curved sword swatted the slug from the air like a pesky mosquito. "Lancer," said Saber, "You should be more careful."

"I'm not going to say thank you," Lancer said. Archer jumped back and nocked another arrow to his bow. This was really not going to be a good day.

* * *

Mishima Ryuuji saw the magician vanish before the arrow hit. "Saber!" he yelled, but the servant didn't respond. He was already running across he arena to catch Archer. Mishima knew the thing couldn't be trusted. It had an appetite for battle, for violence. Not that that was a bad thing, but it could have been better directed.

Mishima ran for the stage. Rider's great round shield was still stuck there, rooted to the wooden panels. Behind it, the flooring was scorched and burnt from the arrow's impact. The scorchmarks revealed a square outline, and it became obvious what had happened to Rider and his master.

Mishima kicked the trapdoor open and dropped down into a smoky room. A grey fog hung heavily around him, drifting slowly in no particular direction. He could see his hands in front of him, but no further. Shapes moved in the darkness, and Mishima realized that chasing down a servant by himself may not have been the most particularly intelligent.

Someone spoke in the fog. "I wondered if anyone would dare follow us."

"You weren't exactly subtle," said Mishima, "Why don't you come closer so we can fight properly?"

"The boy has spirit," laughed the deep voice, "But not power to back it up. My talents are wasted here."

A second voice spoke. "Go back topside. I'll handle this."

"You don't get to order me," snapped Rider, "Finish this, then go catch my master. He can't have run far, and he's not safe alone. I shall occupy the other servants."

"Precisely." The fog swirled faster, than began streaming toward the opening above and vanished. Mishima found himself standing in a wide chamber underneath the stage. Ropes and pulleys were strung about the area, and crates of props were staked haphazardly. Facing him was a tall man, a foreigner. He was standing upright, clearly trying to be imposing but not quite managing it. The incongruity between his boyish features and his rough stance was almost laughable. The servant had disappeared, as had the magician.

"You're not the master, then?" said Mishima, "I'm not sure if I should even bother with you."

"You couldn't bother me in the slightest," the man answered, "But I've been itching for a fight for ages. I do hope you'll try to dodge. It's so much more fun that way."

* * *

The servants moved through the arena in a blur. Archer was on the defensive, leaping from pillar to pillar and staying just out of reach. Lancer and Saber swarmed after him. The reach of Lancer's spear kept him from escaping and Archer's sword skill deflected his arrows.

Marie could barely follow their shapes as they danced, moving in broad circles throughout the wreckage. Saber and Lancer left brown and red blurs, dark colors against Archer's green trail. It was a blue streak, however, that leaped between them from above.

The new servant cracked the cement when he had the ground. He straightened and cricked his neck as smoke rose from the impact of his heavy banded armor. The other servants halted around him, turning their weapons from their fight to focus on the new face.

"Hold," said the newcomer, I am not here to fight you."

"This isn't exactly a good time to talk," said Lancer. He was circling the man slowly, keeping out of range of any potential attacks.

"Agreed," Saber said, "Speak your piece, but speak speak it quickly."

"Rider is the enemy here," said the armored servant, "But you have overlooked him. He cannot be allowed to escape."

Archer smirked. "I could have told you that."

Lancer's pacing brought him closer to the bowman. "I will accept that, for now. But you and I, Archer, will end this soon."

"Of course. But after Rider. We don't need to involve civilians."

Saber was looked around. "But where is Rider? I don't sense him."

The armored man looked down. "He has gone beneath us, hiding."

Arched readied an arrow and loosed it at Rider's shield. The massive bronze piece clanged at the blow, tipped, and fell. It hit the stage and shattered into nothingness. The vines that held it shriveled and vanished, revealing the open trapdoor behind.

"Wait!" Marie clambered over to the servants. She panted a bit as she caught her breath. "Don't listen to him, he's Assassin!"

Lancer's spear was leveled at the man's throat in a heartbeat.

"You insult me," he said, "I am no Assassin."

Marie counted on her fingers. "Saber, Lancer, Archer. Rider's hiding. Berserker we've met, and you're not him. Caster, in that armor?"

Lancer pressed his spearpoint against the man's flesh. "What is your class?" he asked.

"I have none."

"What are you?" asked Archer.

"I have been summoned by Caster. My nature is that of a Revenant."

Marie frowned. "So you're not a servant?"

"Not exactly."

Lancer let him go. "He's a heroic spirit, like us," he told Marie, "The classes were created to allow us to take form in this world. They maximize our powers, allow us access to our noble phantasms and some level of free will. Revenants are an earlier, cruder magic. He is not bound by the limitations of any class, but his abilities are stifled.

Archer nodded. ""I have heard of such things, but had not believed it possible. Caster must have vast reserves of mana."

"Without a class, his potential is limited," said Lancer, "He cannot truly match a servant, but he must have been summoned with a purpose. What is your name, Revenant?"

The Revenant drew his sword and held it before his face. "My name is Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus. Rider is my natural enemy. I can and I will bring him down, but in this form I require your assistance."

Saber had been silent, glowering at him the whole time. Now he spoke. "And you expect us to believe that? At best, you are Caster's dog. The fact that he goes to such effort to take Rider out specifically only makes me want to ally with Rider. Why don't you go back to your master and tell him we'll go after him first?"

"You're rather antagonistic for someone who's left his master in Caster's hands."

"What?"

"Top floor, section F." Saber pointed upward. "Go ahead. The three of us can take down Rider without you." He held up a hand before Saber could charge off. "I should tell you, Caster is an unpleasant fellow, but he's right about an awful lot of things. Whatever grudge you have against him, don't let it go to your head. If you lose your focus, even I can end you."

* * *

Saber vanished and rematerialized on the upper level. "Caster," he said, "Where is he."

"Gone," said Handa. The boy was helping Kiriyama stand. Neither seemed to be particularly badly hurt.

"We should be, too," said the servant, "Come with me.

"I thought I told you to wait at the hospital," said Kiriyama, "Did you disobey me?"

"I-" Saber looked down. "I did. Mishima thought my presence would be useful."

"Good." Kiriyama smiled. "My subordinates are my subordinates for a reason. You can take orders from Mishima. Oh, and Handa, too, I suppose."

"But-"

"No buts. It's not retroactive, so you're still in trouble. Who's guarding Mishima now? What if Caster is going back to the hospital to finish him off? Think next time before you do something." Kiriyama knocked on his head.

"Mishima's fine. He's here, just down there."

Handa looked over the balcony. The arena was strewn with bodies moaning in agony. "I don't see him."

"I told him to stay put," said Saber, "He must have moved."

Kiriyama rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

Handa watched the other servants plotting over the trapdoor. They seemed to be arguing over who would go down first. "We can't leave him behind," he said.

"Of course not," said Kiriyama, "Come on, Saber, we're going down there."

The trio went down the stairs. The back passages of the arena were shattered. The foot carts had been tossed about and the metal railings shattered. Those who could stand had already escaped, but they had to step gingerly around trampled bodies. The lights buzzed over a floor slick with blood.

The arena floor was even worse. The people here had been packed together, and still were. The center around the stage was empty save for debris. The force had thrown the bodies against the wall, where they lay in gruesome piles. Mounds of corpses shifted and moaned.

Handa saw a man impaled on a broken rail. He reached for the end of it, trying to pull himself up and off it, but couldn't manage the strength. He collapsed, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. A dying rattle slipped past his lips. Then he reached up and tried again in vain.

"Why don't they die," Handa whispered.

Kiriyama's eyes widened. "The glyphs. The glyphs are keeping them alive! But why?"

Saber stopped walking. "It is possible," he said, "For a servant to absorb power from a human. I do not partake of such things, but some are more willing. Caster, for one. When a person dies, though, their power fades. Rider probably intends to absorb everyone here, one by one. With power from this many souls, he'd be unstoppable."

"What if we break the glyphs?" asked Handa.

"These people would die."

"Can you do it?" asked Kiriyama. The other two turned to look at her.

"You would have me kill them?" asked Saber.

"They're already dead," the girl said, "I would have you put them to rest.

Saber pursed his lips. "I could. I would have to use noble phantasm to hit all the columns. It would cost a great deal of mana. I do not wish to do so."

"Would you do it if I ordered you?"

"You would have to order me."

Kiriyama held up her hand and traced the red lines. She looked at the man dying on the spike. Then she nodded. "Do it." One of the sigils on her wrist vanished into sparks.

Her servant shut his eyes and held out his hands. A horn, long and twisting, yet unornamented, appeared in them. He held it to his mouth, and blew.

The note was long and wavering. It shifted in tone, oscillating at every vibration. Handa's bones shook as the noise bounced off him. The columns shattered. Rock and cement broke down into its constituent parts and burst into piles of harmless pebbles, which melted. Without support, the upper levels began to fall, but those too condensed into a harmless rain. The roof crumbled and broke apart, and rain from the outside began to fall on Handa's head.

After what seemed like an eternity, the note ceased, and the horn vanished. The arena was gone. Only the wooden stage in the center remained. Handa was surrounded by rubble and bodies. The impaled man lay on the ground now, the rail having vanished with everything else. The man saw him looking and smiled as he died.

"You have two command spells left," Saber told Kiriyama, "Don't waste them on pity."

Rain was falling on Kiriyama's face.

* * *

The three heroic spirits drew straws to see who went first, and Archer lost. The other two called it winning. In retrospect, he probably should have let those two fight it out alone, but it was too late now. Even open, the trapdoor was dark and foreboding. He didn't want to go down there.

For once in his life, he got his wish. His wish, however, took the form of a sword in his side. He staggered backward, grabbing at his broken armor, and tripped over the open hole. Ge twisted and fell to the stage, narrowly avoiding falling into the pit.

Lancer was on his knees next to him, and Rider was locked in combat with the Revenant. Smoke was billowing out of the trapdoor and arcing around the servants. Archer focused his mana and sent energy into the wound, letting it stitch itself together. Self-healing was one of the few luxuries allowed to a servant. Even as he did, Rider knocked the the Revenant's sword aside and pushed him away.

"It takes three of you to take me down?" he laughed, "And you can't even put up a decent fight! I'm ashamed." He looked at Archer. "You took my shield. That ought to make you first."

Archer tightened his grip on his bow, waiting for an opening. The Revenant suddenly lunged forward, stabbing high with his short sword. Rider ducked and swept the man's legs out from under him. There! Archer fired. The arrow leaped from his bow, and Rider plucked it out of the air. He snapped the missile and tossed it to the ground.

"I suppose I shouldn't play favorites, though," said Rider, "Why don't I take all three of you at once. I may even have to use my noble phantasm." He stretched out his hands, and the smoke began to flow from his sleeves. It mingled with the emanations from the trapdoor and made a rough circle around the stage. It started at ground level and began to rise upward. It was knee high when Archer started to hear horses. He yanked his leg back as though the smoke had grabbed him, but met no resistance. It was simply smoke. But it kept rising, and he could see the shapes moving within it.

"My friends are hungry," said Rider and he walked toward the Revenant. The man had forced himself back to his feet and held his sword in a guard. "You remember the Children of Moloch, don't you, Scipio?"

"I remember your abominations quite well," said the Revenant, "Better than you, I should think." His brow was furrowed in concentration. The fog began to swirl down, and the area and Archer and Lancer cleared. The smoke rebounded on Rider, hiding him in a thick cloud. The servant swore to the seven hells and more. He barked an order, and the smoke vanished just as the arena began to come apart.

* * *

"So, kid, what do you want from me?" Donald Waterman eyed his overly inquisitive foe. The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen, if even that. He had a look in his eyes, though, one that Donald had only seen on sober people in the pub before dawn. It was too late in the game to take needless risks.

He activated his magic circuits and gasped as mana surged through his body. He caught it, bound it, and held it against his arms. His bones cracked as they thickened and lengthened, and his hands bulged. Strengthening magic was all he was good at, all his family had ever been good at. It wasn't a particularly powerful magic, and he was never accepted at the Clock Tower. It was, however, particularly adept for beating people to a bloody pulp.

The kid hadn't moved, hadn't even answered his question. He just stood there, staring at Donald with his cold, dead eyes. Donald took a step forward.

The kid moved without a sound. He charged forward suddenly and headbutted Donald in the chest. Donald spun around and punched, his arm propelled by magical force. The kid ducked, somehow faster. He jumped onto Donald's face and grabbed his head. He wasn't silent now, he was growling, feral, tearing and biting, ripping at Donald's ear.

The magician peeled him off and hurled him aside. The kid crashed into a wooden crate, shattering it. Donald wiped the blood from his face. What was with this kid? He activated his strengthening magic once more. His arms bulged again, destroying his already stretched shirt.

The kid leaped out of the rubble, spinning like a dynamo. Donald lashed out and caught his throat, lifting the boy up easily with his enhanced arm. The kid stabbed his wrist with a wooden stake. It pierced his reinforcements and scraped the bone. Donald howled and let go.

The kid lurched forward, driving the stake into Donald's chest over and over until his face was covered in blood. Donald looked at his soulless, unfocused eyes as he faded away.

* * *

Marie took her hands off her ears as the ringing began to fade. Saber rushed past her in a blur, headed for the melee. "Hold it!" she yelled, "We're in the open now!"

Archer let his bow rest. "She's rest. I hear the local law enforcement approaching. We should not be seen more than we already have. Have you been sated enough today, Rider?"

His opponent sheathed his sword. "My blade is not yet wet. Do not blame me for your carnage."

"Monster," hissed the Revenant, "You deny your hand in this?"

"Saber brought down the building. I know not who set off the first blast."

Saber had caught up and was looking at him in confusion. "It was not you?"

"We came here for a reason," said Lancer, "It wasn't that magician."

"The idol!" gasped Archer, "I never saw her!"

Saber spat in the dirt. "It's too late for that. She'll be long gone by now."

"We can't stop the fight," the Revenant protested, "If we let Rider escape, we'll never draw him into a fair fight again!"

The other servants ignored him. "Rider," said Saber, "My master's acquaintance is missing. I believe he attempted to follow you down the trapdoor."

"He did. An acquaintance of my master met him there. You may recover him, if he yet lives." The two servants shook hands and walked to the trapdoor.

The Revenant howled. He summoned a spear into his hand and cast the missile at Rider's back. Lancer swatted it out of the sky and turned on the former hero. "The battle is over," he said, "Retreat, or things will go the worse for you."

The Revenant glared at him. Lancer met his gaze, and the Revenant vanished.

Lancer turned to Archer. "We have another minute before the police arrive," he said, "Do you want to finish this now?"

"I think I'm done for the night," said Archer, "Sleep with your eyes open, though." The bowman vanished.

Lancer looked over at Marie, who nodded at him. "Good work," she said. She saw Saber coming out of the trapdoor carrying a crumpled form. "Looks like we'll be spending the rest of the night at the hospital."

"We're going to keep working with them?" Lancer lowered his voice as Saber neared.

"Why not? You don't approve?"

"They're our enemies."

"Not until the rest of the board is clear. Besides, you already know you can beat Saber when you have to."

Lancer began to vanish. "As long as you stay away from baseball bats.

* * *

Saber emerged from the understage, cradling Mishima in his arms. Handa and Kiriyama ran toward him. "Don't worry," said the servant, "He's all right."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Mishima waved them off as Saber set him on his feet. "I just- oof!" Kiriyama hugged him anyway.

"We thought you were dead," said Handa flatly, "Again."

"I got him, thought," Mishima said as Kiriyama loosened her grip, "Not the master, but a magician. A real one, with magic and everything."

"Did he breathe fire?" asked Kiriyama.

Mishima shook his head. "No, but he had some kind of superstrength."

"Aww," Kiriyama groaned, "I wanted to see that."

"You saw a battle with servants," said Handa.

"Indeed," Saber agreed, "That is a sight few are privileged to see." Red and blue lights flashed in the distance. "We she be gone from this place. The others have already departed."

"So they have." A large man stepped over the fallen gate and into the ruins of the arena. "So they have," he repeated.

"Who are you?" asked Handa, "Are you the police?" He knew as soon as he asked that the man wasn't. Even in the dark it was obvious he was foreign. He wore a loose jacket around his large frame, yet even that was dwarfed by his massive beard. He was not a law abiding citizen. "Assassin?" he postulated.

The man continued to walk toward them. "My name," he said, "Is Worthington Dragoon Verlangien. I am a magus of the Clock Tower and a Master of the Higher Mysteries." He looked Saber in the eye and did not flinch. "I am also the man who will obtain the Holy Grail."

He reached out and ripped Kiriyama's arm off. Saber was moving toward him in a flash, but the servant's first strike bounced off a purple shield of energy. "Do not waste your time," the magus told Saber, "If you go to the hospital now, she may yet live. We the discuss contracts later."

Kiriyama had passed out. Handa was holding onto her body, trying to stem the blood loss. Mishima stared blankly as Verlangien walked away. Saber was pulling at Kiriyama. His inhuman strength was the only thing that let him pry her away from Handa.

"I'll watch the boys," someone else was saying. "You know I have no quarrel with them."

Handa tried to reach for Kiriyama. He couldn't let her die! But she was gone, Saber had carried her off at his full speed. Mishima yelled something, and someone was grabbing him, holding him back? He had been running after that fat magus. He hadn't even noticed.

"Let him go," said the man holding him. It was Berserker. "Let him go."


	4. Chapter 4

Marie had been standing guard outside the hospital since Saber had raced past them to the ER. The place was on high alert – the arena collapse had made the news networks and Saber had just barely beaten the first ambulances full of wounded and dying. She managed to position herself far enough out of the way to avoid being trampled by the constant back and forth of doctors and patients.

The chaos was thick enough that no one commented when Lancer materialized next to her in his armor. "Berserker," said the servant.

His all-too-sane counterpart approached, still wearing his civilian clothing. He carried Handa on his right shoulder and Mishima on his left. Navigating his way between emergency vehicles, he dropped the boys unceremoniously at her feet. "I trust you'll take care of them from here," he said.

"What did you do to them?"

"Just knocked them out. They were being unreasonable. Did Saber tell you what happened?"

Marie shook her head. "He ran by so fast I barely saw him."

Berserker leaned against the wall next to her. Lancer shifted between them. Berserker shot him a look, then lit a cigarette. "Another magus showed up after your brawl. Nice piece of work, by the way. Took the girl's arm off."

"Her arm?"

"Command spells and all. Not her sword arm, at least, but I suppose that counts for less these days. She ought to live, though, but it was messy work. Smoke?"

"No thanks?" said Marie. Lancer took one, though, and let his armor dematerialize.

The three of them watched the ambulances pass for some time. It was over an hour before the constant stream slowed to a trickle.

Berserker stepped away from the wall and stretched. "I have work to do," he said, "Good luck, until we try our blades."

He vanished into the night. Lancer stood up, too, and summoned his armor.

"Armor?" asked Marie, "Now what?"

"Saber. His master is weak, his allies unconscious. I can remove the girl, and he will lose his link to this world before he can fight back."

"Now, really? We have an alliance."

"An alliance with the understanding that it will be broken eventually. Now is the time to strike if we want to win."

"I'm against it," said Marie. She narrowed her eyes. "There's common decency to consider."

"No," said Lancer, "There isn't."

"I forbid it."

"Is that an order?"

The command spells on Marie's hand itch. She glanced and them, and the red tendrils seemed to be writhing in the foggy air. "I'm going to find something to eat," she said. "You do what you want until I get back."

* * *

Takanashi saw the idol's bright pink hair hovering beneath him. Nika was standing on the pedestrian path on the long bridge that connected the two halves of Fuyuki City. Takanashi finished his crossing and parked his bike on the other side. He walked back to where he he seen her, and she hadn't moved.

"You're a hard woman to find, apparently," he said.

She jumped. She hadn't noticed his approach. "What do you want? I'll scream!"

"Don't bother." Takanashi leaned against the railing and looked down at the dark river below. "I just want to make you an offer."

Nika began to back away. "Whatever it is, the answer's no. Unless you can fix my tour."

Takanashi laughed. "We both know that''s not important. Here, take this." He tossed her an envelope. The idol fumbled it, nearly dropping it over the side, but managed to get a grip on it.

"What is it?"

"All my information about Caster's whereabouts. A multi-pronged attack would be more effective."

The idol shook her hand. Her brightly dyed hair swept about her face as she did, and she had to brush it away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Takanashi snatched her wrist. "Don't pretend like you're dumb. That game doesn't work when you're showing off command seals all over-" He stopped. There were no sigils on her hand. "What happened to your seals?"

"You mean those tattoo things?" Her voice was shaking. "My agent thought they were bad for my image. We decided to get rid of them. They were temporary, anyway. Please let go."

Takanashi let go of her arm. "I'm sorry. I misjudged your nature. You should come with me, though."

Nika shook her hand silently.

"I'll make this short. That 'tattoo' was a symbol that indicates you're participating in a certain game. It's a game we play to the death. Everyone here saw your adverts and thinks not only that you're playing, but that you're mocking them. Most of them won't bother talking to you first. That's probably why they blew up your concert."

"But, but," the idol stammered.

Takanashi should see her terror, but could do nothing about it. "Don't make me say it," he said.

Nika's lip quivered.

Takanashi held out his hand. "Come with me if you want to live."

The idol's eyes watered as her shoulders shrank. He thought for sure she was going to scream, but she reached out and took his hand.

* * *

Rudolph Thorn sat leaning against a tree at the top of the temple steps. The bright lights of city were blurred by the forest, dim as stars in the cloudy sky. His eyes were red. He wanted to rub them, but he didn't have the strength to move. He felt the air pressure shift around him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Rider materialized in front of him. "You ran fast and far," said the servant, "There is no shame in that."

"I should've stayed. I should've done something."

"You could not have influenced the outcome. The first step in overcoming your limitations is to recognize them." Rider sat down next to him. "I ran once, long ago. The Romans tore apart the world trying to find me."

"Did they?"

Rider managed a chuckle. "Eventually. But it cost them dearly, and I never let them capture me. The point is this – you will not live if you meet another servant. Flight can and will save your life. But just surviving doesn't win a war. You need to find a way to win."

"Isn't that your job?" the magician asked.

"No," Rider stood up and pulled Rudolph to his feet. "My job is to keep you alive until you do."

* * *

Saber stood resolute over the body of his fallen master. The doctors had treated Kiriyama well. Her wounds had been treated, cleaned, and sewn. She looked peaceful lying on the bed, almost as if it was her natural state. Saber no longer feared that she would not wake up, though he did fear who she would be when she did.

The door swung open and shut again. "How is she?" asked Lancer.

"She'll live," said Saber. Both servants were wearing their armor. "Where's your master?"

"She went out."

Saber summoned his twin swords. "This is not a good time for this, Lancer," he said.

Lancer shook his head as he materialized his spear. "No. But its the only time for it."

Lancer thrust his spear at Kiriyama. Saber threw his sword, knocking it off target. The spear stuck in the wall, and Saber swung his second blade. Lancer caught his wrist, but Saber elbowed him in the face and shoved him against the wall.

Lancer kicked at Saber's legs, knocking him to the floor. Granted a brief respite, he yanked his spear free. He swung it around at Saber, but Saber had recovered his first blade and caught the strike between them. Saber knocked the polearm aside and pressed forward. Lancer leaned away from his attacks and dodged back to the door. He pressed the butt of his spear against the wooden panel and shoved, using the extra force to slide past Saber.

He lashed out with the spear and held the offensive. Saber blocked each strike deftly, deflecting the spear just enough to have it miss by a hairsbreadth. Lancer was outclassed. He could prevent Saber from using his noble phantasm, but the other servant was simply better than he was at combat.

Saber knew it, too. "I've had enough of this," he said. He knocked Lancer's spear downward and then stepped on it with his massive foot. Lancer gasped as the force tore the weapon from his hand. Saber swung his blade and lopped off the empty limb. He kicked the spear. It shattered the hospital window and shot into the darkness outside, plummeting to the ground far below.

"You bastard," hissed Lancer. "Alright then, finish it."

Saber leveled his blades at Lancer's throat. "We could have been allies," he said, "You brought this upon yourself."

"I know," said the defeated servant. He closed his eyes. "Make it quick, please."

Saber swung his blades, but they passed through empty air. Lancer had vanished.

* * *

Takanashi stretched his hands while his computer ran the calculations. Nika was lying on the bed opposite. The idol had collapsed almost as soon as he had brought her back. Her chest rose and fell as she slept. He thought she might be trying to roll over, but he used _Solid Air_ to hold her in place. He told himself that it was a protective measure, to stave off a potential attack, but he also didn't trust her.

His monitor refreshed, showing a map of the city with newly plotted points scattered across both sides of the river. Lines connected them, forming a great sigil and leaving a single, solid mark in the center of the diagram – a small house in the residential area.

"Are you ready to fight?" he asked. Then he slapped himself in the face. Archer was gone. Now that he had Caster's location, he couldn't do anything about it. He had guns and ammunition, but they would scarcely hold against one of the most powerful mages of the ancient world.

The command spells still blazed on his hand. His servant was alive, wherever he was. He could summon him back, if he had too. It was a shame he'd only managed to summon such an inferior being.

Not that he should be surprised. Everything he had was inferior. His apartment leaked, his computer was old, his bed was just a few mats. Even his family was weak, the magic in his bloodline second-rate at best. He should never have even tried to summon Hercules in the first place.

"You've got a friend," said his poor excuse for a servant.

"I don't have any friends!" He snapped.

"Wow," said Archer, "Then I don't want to know what that girl's doing here, do I?" He leaned over the bed and poked the sleeping figure, his figure slowing slightly as it passed through the magical barrier. "Is she my replacement?"

"What? No, I meant-" He hadn't realized that Archer had actually materialized. "What are you doing here."

"You're my master, I'm the servant." Archer sat at the foot of the bed. "Where else would I be?"

Takanashi narrowed his eye. "I thought you ran off."

"I came back." Archer stretched and let his armor dematerialize in favor of a simple track suit. "People always seem to realize they need me after I'm gone, and I didn't think you'd want to wait ten years to figure that out. You're not the sort that expects me to grovel and cry and apologize and all that, are you? Because I'm not going to."

Takanashi nodded. "I understand. I've found Caster's base."

"I knew you would. I have to rest and recover. Tomorrow, I'll finish him. We'll finish him."

* * *

A bolt of lightning seemed to strike just outside the convenience store. Lancer appeared in a swirl of dust, covered in blood and clutching the stump of his right arm. The servant felt his throat with his good hand and looked around. The hospital building toward high over the next block, but Saber was nowhere to be seen.

He walked into the convenience store. The doors parted for him with a chime. A pale-faced youth tending the front counter grunted something that was unintelligible even to his heightened senses.

The center aisle was lined with chips, but the floor was tainted by a growing pile of slimy black liquid. At the end of the aisle was his spear. It had buried itself inside a soda machine. Bits of unprocessed pop dribbled from the hole like the lifesblood of a dying man. He wrenched his spear free and wiped the point on his cloak. He would need to clean it properly, but that could wait.

Marie was standing next to the frozen foods section, holding her wrist. "What happened?" she asked.

The servant turned to his master. "I thought you didn't want to hear about it."

"I had to use another one of these command spells to get you out of there, which I only knew to do because your spear came hurtling through the front door!"

"We fought," said Lancer, "I lost."

"That's not enough," Marie ground her foot into the linoleum. "We're going to find a new place to stay, and you're going to go over everything that's happened until you figure out why you lost. Come along."

Lancer nodded. Marie stormed out of the store and he followed without a word.

* * *

Stars burned in the darkness. Swift winds coursed down the streets, cleansing them of blood and soot. The city, exhausting from a long evening, finally slept, and there was silence until the morning.

Handa rose shortly after dawn. Unconsciousness had turned to sleep, and in dreams he had gone over things time and time again. "I'm going home," he said.

"Hold," said Saber. The servant stood in the back corner of the room, where he could see both the door and the window. "You should not go out alone."

"I'll go where I please."

"I'll follow you."

Handa looked at Kiriyama. The girl was sleeping peacefully on the hospital cot. She looked so serene he almost lost his composure. But he didn't have time for that, so he jabbed his finger at Saber's chest. "No, you stay here, you watch her, and if you let her die I will destroy you. I don't care what kind of monster you are."

He stormed out of the room before the servant could respond. He followed the stairs to the exit and borrowed a bicycle off the bike rack. His house was about a half hour away, but he made good time. He briefly assured his parents that he was alive and lied that everything was fine.

He rummaged through his desk drawers until he found his secret stash of reserve money, but it was a few thousand yen. More than enough for a rainy day, but scarcely enough for a war. The garden shed proved more useful. He found a solid hammer and some sharp gardening implements he couldn't name. He tried to swing a rake, but it was poorly balance, so he left it behind.

He said farewell to his parents and biked back into the city. The foreigner's face lingered in his mind, laughing. Finding one man in a city of thousands wouldn't be easy, but Handa would do it. There was nowhere for him to hide.

* * *

Rudolph Thorn woke up in a shack in the forest. After the incident at the arena, the hotel had been crawling with press, paparazzi and police, none of whom he was particularly inclined to face. It was the first time he had run from cameras. Rider had found this small shack a good ways out of town. The old place didn't seem to have been used for years, and provided plenty of shelter.

He yawned and stretched. Sleeping on hard ground was not something he was accustomed to. "Donald!" he called, but Donald was dead. His only friend, gone, buried under the rubble of the arena. His stomach growled, and he noted that the shack, unlike the hotel, did not provide a complimentary breakfast.

He opened the door and stepped out into the sun. Rider was sitting on a tree stump, sharpening his sword. The tree was freshly cut. "Rider," said Rudolph. The servant stood, and the ground seemed to creak under his immense weight. "You and I, we have a war to win. We're going to beat the others, and avenge Donald. We're going to get the Grail, and we're going to be famous. Are you with me?"

"My blade is yours, master."

"Then let's go into town."

"Who is our first target?"

Rudolph smiled. It felt good to smile. "Out first target is breakfast. I'm hungry. Out second target is clothes. No one's going to remember if we win this war in rags."

Rider looked at his master suspiciously. "An then?"

"Isn't it obvious? Then we kill everybody else."

* * *

Mishima Ryuuji dreamed dark dreams. He was alone, all alone, surrounded by fire. Everything burned, and everything bled. The blood started as a trickle, then became a rain, and soon it was a flood, and he was drowning in it. He gasped for breath, and the red liquid surged into his lungs, filling his airways. He was absorbed into it, until he no longer existed.

Then he woke. He left the hospital without saying a word. He didn't want to talk to Handa, or to Kiriyama. He was sure that Saber noticed him leave, but the servant said nothing.

He went to school. No one was there. They had probably canceled classes after the incident. Mishima didn't mind. He wasn't going there for the classes or the company.

The rooftop seemed even emptier than the grounds. Even the cars that drove by seemed particularly far away. He wondered how many of their drivers knew about the war, how close they were to death just being in this city. Few of them, he supposed, if any. It was not particularly fair. He was involved now, though, even more than before.

He looked at his hands, but there was no blood on them. He supposed someone must have washed them for him. That man had bled a lot when he died. He had killed him. Somewhere between the fear and the terror he had found the strength to kill a wizard. Him, a high-schooler with scarcely a weapon.

And he could do it again. He knew that, knew it in his gut. And he would do it again, if that was what it took to keep people alive. First his parents, then Kiriyama. Handa, too. He hadn't been hurt, but he was bound to be before long. Someone had to keep them safe. It was too late for his mom, for his dad, but the others could still be saved. And if he had to throw himself on the knife to do it, so be it.

He punched the fence. The rattling chains waved away from the impact point. He had to be serious now. He looked around the rooftop one last time, then went back inside. He took the stairs down, one level at a time. He walked across each floor, and looked into every empty classroom. He went out the front door and shut it carefully behind him. He wouldn't be coming back.

* * *

Takanashi saw the idol's eyes flutter and he relaxed the _Solid Air_ so she could move. The girl yawned and stretched on his bed. For the first time, he thought she looked like a human. Before she had been an idol, then a frightened animal. The moment passed, quicker than he had hoped, and she was in character again. "Good morning," she said, cheerful but hollow, "Been up long?"

"Never slept," he grunted. He opened his closet and took out a jacket. "I'm going out now. Stay here, don't open the door for anyone."

"Not a chance."

"Do what I say if you want to-" She slapped him. Archer materialized and threw her against the wall.

She grasped and writhed against the servant's arm. "If you expect to treat me as some kind of hostage..."

"Down, Archer," said Takanashi. The servant dropped the girl unceremoniously to the floor. "I apologize, that was out of line. You must understand I am somewhat stressed. I am going out now to fight a battle. People are going to try to kill me, and kill you. This room is warded with the best defenses I know. It is the closest thing to safe in this entire city."

Nika got back on her feet. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice, then."

"I'm glad you understand." He finished buttoning his jacket and stepped outside. Nika followed him. He stopped. "I think you misunderstand."

"Misunderstand what?" Nika asked, "I'm not spending the rest of my life locked in some NEET's apartment. I can take care of myself just fine. You think I got out of that arena by looking cute? I want to know who's after me."

Takanashi scratched his neck. He was acutely aware of Archer watching him. "Alright," he relented, "But stay close. Hide if things get dangerous."

"Don't count on it," she said. "Come on, let's stop by my hotel first. I can't keep wearing this costume."

* * *

"I didn't really expect that to work." Mishima spun around when he heard the voice. The Revenant was leaning casually against the gate outside of the school. The being, more than a man but less than a servant, had taken to wearing in ornate blue-green kimono. It should have been bizarre, but somehow seemed to suit him.

Mishima dropped into a fighting crouch and balled his fists. "Surrender, servant."

The Revenant held up his palms. "I'm not really a servant, and I don't intend to surrender. I came to talk."

"I didn't."

"Alright, fight me."

Mishima charged, swinging his fists. The Revenant stepped between his strikes with ease. "Faster," said the Revenant, "More coordinated. Use your anger." Mishima shouted as he punch, putting more force into his blows. The Revenant caught his hand and held it. "Good," he said, "Very good, even, for a human. But you cannot hope to match a heroic spirit, even one of my caliber, much less a servant proper."

Mishima ground his teeth. "I'll manage."

"Not alone." The Revenant dropped Mishima's hand and bent his knee. "I am Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus. Allow me to offer my sword in your service."

"You work for Caster." Mishima spat the name. "He's a monster."

"And so I desire to serve another. For now, I am bound to him by dark magics, but I believe you can release me."

"And if I do? What then?"

"I shall help you destroy the others and claim the Grail."

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't. But if you don't, you'll die."

"Alright," said Mishima, "I accept. How do I free you from Caster?"

The Revenant rose. "There is only one piece of mortal magic with that kind of power. The command seal."

"But I don't have any."

"No. But you know a man who does, and I know how to find him." The Revenant looked at the morning sky, shading his eyes against the sun. "Caster requires my attendance. Meet me in the park at two. Try not to get killed before then." The Revenant faded away.

* * *

"I can't divulge any information about any guests who may or may not be staying at our establishment." The hotel clerk was particularly unforthcoming. Handa wasn't entirely sure whether it was general policy or because he was wearing three-day-old clothes and carrying a hammer. It was a rather promising response, though. The last three places had given him a flat "No" and shooed him out the door.

He decided to linger in the lobby for a while, in case the foreign wizard passed by. A half hour passed, and the sideways glances from the security guards began to turn into straight-on glares. He was preparing to leave when a small, wizened figure stopped him. "Mr. Verlangien will see you now," he said, "Please follow me."

Handa nodded and obeyed. They took the elevator up to the 24th floor. The doors opened on an enormous foyer rather than the damp hallway Handa had expected. Worthington Dragoon Verlangien was reclines on a large couch that could not possibly have been part of the hotel's standard furnishings. The magus himself was wearing a fine set of embroidered robes. A large vat of bubbling liquid behind him contained Kiriyama's severed arm. Handa tightened his grip on the hammer.

"Welcome," boomed Verlangien, "Can I get you some wine, coffee? Perhaps you would prefer something carbonated at your age. Burke, get the lad some soda. And you, wine? Or is ale proper?"

Berserker materialized behind Handa. "Whatever you have to offer," said the servant.

"How long have you been there?" Handa asked.

"I've been following you all morning," said Berserker. Verlangien handed him a goblet of wine. The servant quaffed it in a single gulp and tossed the glass away. "I had a need to speak to this man as well, and investigation is not the dominion of a Berserker."

"You don't act much like a Berserker, though," remarked Handa. Burke returned, carrying a can as soda. Handa took it and opened it, but set it on the table without drinking. "Do you want to go first, then? I don't think you'll get much out of him when I'm done."

Berserker looked at the English magus. "I rather think I'll enjoy watching you. Please, go ahead. Don't expect me to intervene though." He found a sizable leather chair and sat down heavily. "Burke, was it? Fetch me another glass of that wine."

* * *

Takanashi watched the quiet house through a pair of binoculars. It was a small suburban home a little ways off the main road, surrounded on all sides by identical buildings. The windows were curtained and the doors were shut. There didn't seem to be any lights on inside, but it was midday. Archer stood next to him, observing the house as well, favoring his servant's over mortal lenses. Nika watched them with interest. Takanashi had persuaded her to avoid the hotel and borrowed some street clothes form the college girl who lived in his apartment complex. They were a bit oversized, and no was was happy about it, but it was better than dealing with the security downtown.

"Archer," he asked, "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing. But Caster has demonstrated rudimentary stealth before. I could shoot through a window."

"Too noisy. No need to fight if we don't have to. Let me check something." He pulled out his mobile phone and dialed. Once he had the address, it had been easy enough to get the landline's number.

"Hello," some answered. Takanashi was about to hang up when the voice said, "Is this Archer or his master?"

"The master," Takanashi answered. "You're Caster's master, I take it."

"My master is away," said Caster, "I assume you're here about the war."

"You could say that."

"I am." Takanashi noticed that Archer was staring at him intently. He wondered if the Servant could hear the other end of the conversation, or if he could even comprehend the concept of a mobile phone. "One moment, please." He heard what sounded like the flipping of pages. "I can spare some time this afternoon, around four. Will the old temple grounds be suitable?"

"What?"

"For the duel. You want to fight, don't you? Isn't that why you called?"

"I hadn't really planned on arranging things."

Caster sighed. "I was afraid of that. You wanted to attack me in my own home. I suppose you can, if you can break through my wards. But if I were you, I wouldn't bring along dependents. It will only cause you trouble. Allow my Revenant to demonstrate."

Nika squealed. The Revenant had materialized behind her and had his sword against her throat. He held her hands tightly behind her back, using her as a shield. Archer nocked an arrow.

"So," Caster continued, "I offer you a fair fight on neutral ground. Four o'clock. Temple ruins. May the best servant win." Caster hung up and the line went dead.

Archer and the Revenant stared at each other. "Down," Takanashi commanded. Archer lowered his bow. The Revenant sheathed his sword and let Nika go. He glanced at Archer and raised an eyebrow. Archer's grip tightened on his bow, but he didn't redraw the string. The Revenant vanished.

"You're really bad at this," said Nika.

* * *

Handa glared as Verlangien calmly sipped his wine. "So tell me," the magus said, "What it is that you want."

"I want you dead," said Handa. He wasn't sure what Verlangien was up to. It didn't look like he was casting a spell, but you could never be sure around wizards.

"Of course you do. I don't mean now, though, I mean in the big picture. You're still thinking in the moment, lad" Verlangien stood up and waved his hand. The tapestries on the wall lifted and rolled away, revealing a broad window overlooking the city. "Look out there. Those buildings weren't made by people who thought in the moment. Cities are built, countries are founded by people who can see the tapestry of time. You want me dead now, but you will regret it tomorrow?"

"I don't think so."

"Tell me, though. What happens, in your mind, after you kill me? Assuming you can, of course. I will put up a fight." He laughed. "I suppose you'll go back to your girl. You might be able to reattach the arm, but not if she wants to use it in the war. You'll probably all be killed by another master, but we're imagining anyway, so let's ignore that. You've won the war, the Grail is your her hands, perhaps you acquire it somehow. You have literally all the power in the world at your hands. What do you do?" Handa wondered. Ever since Saber had been summoned it had been one thing after another. He hadn't really thought about the end game. Verlangien had caught him. "You're fighting to survive, lad, not to win. And you can't win like that."

"What's your point?" asked Handa.

"As you can see, I am a man of means and influence. Your friend has quite the potential for magework. I could sponsor her application into the academy. And restore her arm, of course. I could also provide both of you with fairly sizable sums of money, and for that other boy as well. Or if you prefer, I could have Burke mix you a love potion. Burke has gotten quite good at making love potions."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"I want a servant. Have the girl abandon her contract and have Saber swear fealty to me. I will keep the command spells and you will no longer participate in the war. You will be in no danger and you may name your price."

"I don't want to make a deal with you," said Handa.

"You don't have to want it, but you need it. You have until tonight to decide. Think about it. What do you want from this that's worth risking her life, her life for?

* * *

"This was your grand plan?" Lancer was irate. "Hiding is not going to solve anything?" Marie had found an old boxcar on a set of abandoned train tracks outside of the city. She had broken the lock easily and the inside was clearly abandoned. There wasn't anything inside but a few plants growing through the rotting floor.

"And why not?" Marie rummaged through her pack, looking for some rations. "Let the others fight. Getting involved seems to end poorly for you anyway."

"I had Saber until you intervened."

"Really? The time he threw your spear out the window? Very impressive."

Lancer's expression darkened. "I thought I could surprise him. I was wrong."

"Seems to happen a long."

"And so I must make amends. How can I redeem myself if I must hide?"

Marie found a granola bar and unwrapped it. "Start by planning. If you want to go out, go out. I won't stop you. But don't engage. It's fun to go exploring without a map. But if you're heading into danger, always have your bases covered. Figure what they do, how they'll respond. Then we'll take them out."

"As you command." Lancer saluted and disappeared. Marie sighed. She only had one command spell left, and Lancer was going to get himself killed. She needed a new plan, and fast.

* * *

It was after lunchtime, so Handa bought some bread on his way back to the hospital room. He opened the door to a cheerful sight: Kiriyama was sitting up and chatting at Saber. "Handa!" she said, "You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," he said, "You're the one we were worried about."

"And you brought lunch."

He tossed her a piece of bread. Her shoulder jerked uselessly and it hit her in the face. Handa winced. "Sorry, sorry. I'll open it for you."

"No, I've got it." Kiriyama picked up the package in her other hand and tore it open with her teeth. "Let's go eat on the rood. I'm tired of lying in this bed."

"Will the doctor's let you?"

Kiriyama shrugged. "Don't care."

She stumbled a bit as she got out of bed, but managed to walk alright. Saber dematerialized as they left. Handa knew he was following without attracting attention. Luckily, he elevator went all the way to the roof, so they didn't have to try to manage the stairs.

They found a bench near a small garden and ate. "How do you feel?" asked Handa, "Does it hurt?"

"No." Kiriyama shook her head. "I'm tired, though. I don't think I've ever been tired before." She ripped a bite out of her bread. "Don't tell anyone else I said that, though, or I'll make you Riverdance at the train station."

"It's alright to be tired." Handa stopped eating and looking at the girl. "You don't have to do this, you know. You can stop now."

Kiriyama stared at him like he was speaking German.

"I talked to the magus," he said, "He can fix your arm, set you up at magic school. You can have-"

Kiriyama slapped him. "Saber, get me a pen," she snapped. The servant briefly materialized to nod before he vanished. Then she turned on Handa. "Never talk like that again. We do not stop, we do not give up. That's in the club charter."

"We don't have a club charter."

"I didn't think I needed to write it down."

"But your arm..."

"A casualty of war." Kiriyama harumphed and tilted her head back like an old war hero. "I'll get a new one, a fancy one. Then I'll practically be a cyborg. Science can do that sort of thing nowadays, and if not, magic. If we don't find it ourselves, is not worth finding."

Saber materialized and handed Kiriyama a pen. Handa tried to back away, but he was too slow. He yelled as began drawing.

* * *

"You're late," said Mishima. The boy was sitting on a bench in the park. Calling it a park was something of a misnomer; it was simply an empty patch of land in the center of the city. It was supposed to be a park, but nobody could make anything grow. The city council had finally abandoned their attempts and allowed businesses to move in, but every shop failed. In the end, it became a square of benches, cobblestone paths, and empty playgrounds.

It was a setting that suited the Revenant fine. Stripped of the absurdities of the modern world, he looked like a proper warrior. "I apologize," he said, "But my time is not truly mine to give. Not yet."

"Let's change that." Mishima stood up and rolled his shoulders. "Name the place."

"The Burning Dove Hotel. 24th floor."

"Do we have a plan?"

"We got in, you grab the command spells, we get out. I kill anything in our way."

"Sounds good."

"And irrelevant," said a third voice. Archer materialized on top of an empty fountain. His master was running up behind him, followed by Nika. Mishima was confused by the idol's presence, but then remembered she was a master, too. He tried to warn the Revenant, but the fight had already begun.

Archer fired his bow, and the Revenant split the arrow with his sword. The second shot hit him full in the chest before he could recover. It cracked on his armor, and viney tendrils split off from the arrowhead and began to wrap around the Revenant. The hero tried to swat them away with his sword, but they lashed around his arms.

Soon his limbs were entangled completely, and he stopped thrashing as they crawled up to his face. "Sorry," he told Mishima, "You know where to go now. Save my replacement, will you? He won't want to be Caster's dog any more than I."

Mishima looked away. "I'll kill Caster, first, then. Myself."

"No!" Yelled the Revenant, spitting out vines, "You'll be killed! You need-" Archer's vines finally gagged him.

Lancer laughed as he materialized. "Listen to the man, kid. He may be weak, but he's not stupid." The Servant waved his spear near the vines and they shriveled from its point, recoiling into the arrow. The spent missile fell to the cobbles. "I'll take the left," Lancer said.

The Revenant gasped for breath. "And the right is mine. Close as fast as you can. On my signal."

* * *

Takanashi swore when he saw Lancer materialize. "Stay down," he told Nika. He drew a pistol from his shoulder holster and looked for Lancer's master. He didn't see anyone. Maybe she wasn't even there.

The boy was, though, and he charged at Takanashi like a mad dog. Takanashi fired a shot over his head. "You're not a master," he yelled, "Don't do this!"

The boy pounced, but Takanashi sidestepped the unorthodox attack. He grabbed the boy by the head and pressed his gun against his opponent's temple. "I don't want you," he said, "I want Caster."

"Join the club," growled the boy, "But you'll do for starters."

"Now,now," said Nika pleasantly, "Why don't you two get along?"

The boy spat. "Fine. Seems like everyone I try to kill wants to work with with. Maybe Caster will bake me a cake."

"I'd pay good money to see that," said Takanashi. He let the boy go. "I'm Takanashi."

"Mishima," said the boy, "Call off your dog."

"Oh, right. Archer!" His servant rushed to his side. The Revenant made to follow, but Mishima waved him off. The boy certainly acted like a master. Lancer lunged, but the Revenant knocked his spear down. The two heroes started to argue, but they were using words, not blades.

"I know you, don't I?" asked the boy, "Weren't we in middle school together?"

"Probably" Takanashi reholstered his gun. "I dropped out a while back, don't really think about it anymore."

"Do you miss it?"

The gun was still loaded. He left the safety off. "Every day."

* * *

"This is no good," Kiriyama sighed, "Saber, next time I ask for a pen, make sure you get me something permanent." Handa was scrubbing the ink off his face in a hospital sink. A slew of insulting characters melted into the water.

"I am sorry," said Saber, "My talents lie in warfare, not teasing."

"Which reminds me," said Handa. He paused to spit out some watered-down ink. "What are we going to do about the war now?"

Kiriyama put her hand on her waist. "Do I need to write on your face again?"

"No!" yelled Handa. "I mean, I know we're not giving up. But you can hardly walk. How do you expect to fight?"

Saber put his hand on his master's shoulder. "Leave the fighting to me," said the servant, "I have the measure of the others now, they do not worry me."

"Right." Handa nodded sarcastically. "Even Assassin? What if Caster attacks Kiriyama while you're out brawling?"

Kiriyama laughed. It was nice to hear that again, even if she was mocking him. "Don't be stupid, Handa. That's your job."

* * *

Lancer had the decency to materialize outside the old train car, but flung the door open so hard it flew off its rails with a crash. "We have to move," he said, "Now."

Marie looked up. "What happened to scouting?"

"There's a new player. Caster and Archer and going after him with one of Saber's kids. Now."

Marie leaning against the wall. "So? Let them kill each other."

"Better to be there and pick off the winner while they're weak."

"Or get mixed up in it and lose, more likely. I don't want you within a hundred yards of another servant unless they attack you first. Nice scratch, by the way."

Lancer looked down at his armor. His right pauldron had been nicked by one of Archer's arrows. "Damn that bastard," he said, "I'm going after him."

"No. You're not."

Lancer stopped in the doorway. "You're running out of command spells. Are you going to order me again?"

Marie paused and looked at her hand. She only had one of the red marks left. "No. But let me put on my coat. I'm coming with you."

* * *

Worthington Dragoon Verlangien watched as the gel began to boil over an open flame. The arm floating inside bobbed in the pressure, and the command spells began to glow a brighter red.

Burke handed him a glass of tea. "That's two servants who have denied us, sir. Are we going to be in trouble?"

"Hardly," said the magus, "Saber is tied to his weakened master, and a Berserker without a properly functioning mad enchantment is useless."

Burke rifled through a stack of papers. "The Association has forwarded the details about Archer' s master."

"Have you ascertained Archer's identity?"

"Not yet," Burke cringed.

"Burke, do I permit you to- ho!" Verlangien's reprimand was interrupted by a red light. The command spells had begun to glow much brighter. They slipped off the arm and twirled in the liquid like eels, pulsing with power. Verlangien rolled up his sleeves and took the lid off the container. Boiling foam sloshed over the side.

The elevator chimed, and the door slid open. "Step away from the command spells," said the Revenant.

* * *

Marie gasped as she stepped out of the elevator. The wizard's chamber was far more ornate than she had dared to imagine. Perhaps there was something to be said for exploring the heights after all. She almost regretted that it was bound to be destroyed.

Battle was inevitable. Archer was there, with his master. Caster's Revenant was there, with one of Saber's boys who wouldn't stop glaring at her. That idol was there, too, so Assassin was certainly hanging around nearby. Plus Lancer, of course. She would have preferred to watch from somewhere far away, but the magus had ensured his domain was protected from outside eyes.

The magus stood and looked up from his strange experiment. "I'm glad you're all here," he rumbled, "It saves me the trouble of seeking you out." He gesturing at his bubbling concoction an the scarlet energy that danced inside it. "As you can see, I am a quite powerful magus with a plentiful supply of mana, and I have recently acquired some command spells." Marie realized where he was going and her blood chilled. "I would be happy to contract with any servant who were to kill his master immediately."

"No!" Marie shouted. She couldn't afford to hesitate. The last command spell slipped off her hand and the blazing red energy outlined her servant before he could move.

Lancer looked at her, but his eyes were full of sorrow, not hatred. "You thought I would betray you? We disagree a lot, but I had not known I had sunk so low. So be it." The servant tightened his grip on his spear and walked forward.

"Call him back, ma'am," said the magus, "Or I will destroy him."

Marie shook her head.

The magus turned to his side. "Mr. Burke?" The magus's frail assistant picked up a beaker and downed its contents. The weedy man immediately began to grow. His muscles shook and expanding, tearing his clothes apart. In a second he was bigger than Lancer.

The servant didn't care. He grabbed Burke by the head and threw him across the room. The man smashed through the glass window and plummeted away with a feral roar. "No man can face a servant in open combat," said Lancer, "Not even a magus." He banged his spear on the floor and the weapon began to spark with electricity.

"But this is not open combat." At the magus's word, metal bars sprang up from the floor while more fell from the ceiling. They slammed into a row opposite each other, trapping Lancer in a circular cage. The bars began to move toward each other, further restricting the servant's movements. He lashed out with his spear. Metal cracked as it hit metal. The reverberations bounced through the room. Vials of potions shattered, and the mixed contents melted through a wooden desk. Electricity coursed through the bars as the lights in the room flickered, but the cage was undamaged.

The magus walked up to the trapped servant and drew a knife. A blue sapphire set into its hilt seemed to glow with energy. He frowned, then plunged the dagger into Lancer's eye.

To his credit, the servant did not scream. His body thrashed violently, smashing against the unbreakable cage. Finally, the body stopped moving and leaned against the bars. The wizard without his dagger and the body began to vanish. The magus wiped his weapon on a handkerchief and looked at the other servants. "Which of you would like to go next?"

* * *

Mishima smiled. One servant was already down and they hadn't even started to fight yet. He put a hand on the Revenant's shoulder. The former hero had been shifting his weight for a charge. Better to let Archer move first. Even if the bowman failed, another servant down was still a win. The only important thing was keeping the other masters from the command spells.

He smelled the gunshot before he heard it, and he wasn't worried about Archer's master getting to the command spells anymore. Takanashi clutched at his chest and toppled over, leaving Nika holding the heavy pistol. The idol waved the weapon unsteadily at the startled onlookers.

"Look here, you all," she said, "I'm not playing your stupid game!" She shifted the gun from one hand to another as she showed off her hands. "See, no command spells. But I can take care of myself. You come for me and you'll get what's yours. Now I have a concert in Okinawa tonight, and I need to catch my plane. Don't follow me!"

The gun barked, and the bullet shattered a glass mirror. It had probably gone off by accident. The idol tried to storm out of the room, but was stopped by the elevator. She smacked the down button, but the door refused to open.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Verlangien, "You didn't really think we'd fall for your act, did you?"

Nika began to chuckle. Takanashi coughed up blood and stared at her in shock. Then she began to laugh. It was, somehow, beautiful. "I'd forgotten how hard it is to fool intelligent people," she said. She brushed her hands together, and when they came apart, a pair of command spells sparkled on the back of her left wrist, crossed like the x on a treasure map.

"I'm surprised you came alone," said Verlangien, "My offer applies to Assassin, too, of course. Do pass it along."

"He won't take it," said the idol, "And anyway, you'll be killed first."

"Oh I very much doubt that. I can handle the Revenant blindfolded. Archer, too, though he seems less inclined to fight." Mishima noticed that Archer was gone. Dissipated or dead, he couldn't tell. "I can handle your Assassin, too."

"Maybe," said Nika, "But I was thinking of something stronger." The elevator finally chimed and the doors slid open. Berserker and Saber strode past her into the room, garbed for battle.

* * *

The chime brought Marie back to her senses. The burning sensation on her hand had lessened slightly. The remnants of the command spells looked more like an oddly shaped bruise than series of mystical runes now.

That was it, then. It happened sometimes. There were always buildings you couldn't get into, old ruins that had been completely demolished. Sometimes there just wasn't anything left to explore.

Berserker was yelling. "The Grail did not choose you! You have no right to be here!"

Maybe that was it. She wasn't a magician, didn't have a drop of magical blood in her. Why was she chasing after some kind of mystical Grail?

She answered her own question. That was exactly why. She had always chased after things that weren't hers. Why did a French woman seek out Roman treasures, Greek temples, Ethiopian artifacts, Cambodian relics? That was her nature. And the Holy Grail, wouldn't that be the greatest?

Why stop at a locked door?

Pick the lock.

Break it down.

The magus gestured and the interior of the room shifted. The couch slammed into the coffee table and shattered it. Berserker and Saber slammed into each other and fell. Marie ended up near the empty cage where Lancer died.

His spear was still there, lying on the ground. She picked it up.

Saber and Berserker charged the wizard, but he threw up a shield. Their swords bounced off, unable to pierce the magic barrier.

Marie threw the spear. Her muscles were built for climbing, not throwing, but desperation brings strength and the magus's shield meant nothing to Lancer's magic-canceling spear.

It hit Verlangien in the gut. His shield vanished as the magus grunted and fell to his knees. "You're all mad," he gasped. He grabbed the spear's haft and tried to pull it out, but he had no leverage. "Fine." He spat blood. "If I can't have the Grail, let it be lost!"

He grabbed the bubbling jar of arm. "No!" shouted the servants. Berserker lunged forward with his sword. Saber put his horn to his lips. The Revenant threw his short sword.

They were all too slow. Verlangien smashed the jar.


	5. Chapter 5

The beginnings of a fire looked almost like a flower. Bright, pure white tipped the petals' edges, darkening and strengthening to a deep orange at the blooming center. Ripples of blood red and acrid black wove jagged paths around the serene colors.

"It's beautiful," whispered Kiriyama, leaning her face in far too close. "Can I touch it?"

"No," said Saber quickly.

The former abode of Worthington Dragoon Verlangien had changed. Without his magics holding it together, the room was just that – a room. The furniture had been bashed to pieces, weakened by spilling potions and then smashed when the room shrunk. What was left had been piled in the corner. The draperies were slashed and torn, and only a few chairs seemed solid enough to sit on. Handa had claimed one, Saber another. A third awaited Kiriyama, but the girl wasn't the sort for sitting.

"How is it done?" Handa asked.

"It is a magic charm," said Saber, "It was granted to me in life, and I do not deign to understand its complexities. To put it simply, it stops time."

Kiriyama held her hand up to the reddish ball. "But the fire's still there, right? How come its not hot?"

Saber winced. "Please step away. If you break the barrier, the field will collapse and we'll all die. The power of a raw command spell will destroy the entire city."

"That bad?" asked Handa.

"At least."

"How long can you hold it?"

Saber shook his head. "Not long. It requires huge amounts of mana. I can probably last two day. Less if I have to fight, or move away from it."

"Can we stop it?"

Saber frowned. "I don't know."

* * *

The world had moved on. The age of hand-written letters fell to the age of the printing press, which in turn was slaughtered by the computer. But for every grand, sweeping change, there are those who are unable to adapt. And sometimes, those people end up in positions of power. And so, Suzuki Kanya was printing spreadsheets on a Saturday. The conceptual idea of a paperless office still eluded his superiors.

The last printout slid from the machine like the runt of the litter, and the massive, ancient device whined and died. Suzuki gathered up the papers, straightened them meticulously and brought them to a hole puncher. He holed them, five at a time, until the stack was through, and then placed them carefully in a three-ring binder.

He opened the storage closet and walked in to the old, dry room. Binders, the same binders, lined old, metal racks. As they receded into the darkness, their colors dimmed. Suzuki did not doubt that if he kept going, he would uncover scrolls from thousands of years ago.

But that would require effort. He filed the binder on a closer shelf, next to the one he had set there the month before. He closed the door and locked it behind him, then went home.

He took off his jacket as he walked in and hung it neatly in the closet. Making his way to the kitchen, he opened the fridge. It was empty. Defeated, he wandered back to the sitting room and collapsed on the couch with a yawn.

He couldn't afford to nap, though, not even after a long day at work. "Tell me, Caster," he asked his servant, "Did anything interesting happen today?"

Caster materialized behind him. "Lancer his dead," he reported, "As is Archer's master."

"The interloper?"

"Also dead."

"You sound troubled. What is it?"

"Before he died, he loosed the power of the command spells he stole. Saber has managed to delay the effects, but it will inevitably destroy the entire city."

Suzuki waited. "And?"

"And?"

"You've had all day to think. How do we stop it?"

"I have examined my texts. It cannot be stopped, only weathered. A defensive Noble Phantasm could do, but none involved have one. I could summon an appropriate Revenant, if I had the mana."

Suzuki's voice took on a gravelly tone. "What do you need?"

"Even more than before. Not as much as Assassin's failed gamble would have netted, but close."

"Do you have a target in mind?"

"The hospital," said Caster, "Saber no longer guards it."

"Do it."

"As you wish."

* * *

Marie caught up with her target near the train station. "Berserker!" she called. A few people looked at her strangely, but decided it best to ignore the strange foreigner.

The servant ignored her. He purchased a newspaper from a small vendor and sat down on bench to read. Marie pushed the paper down. "Berserker. Talk to me."

"No," he said, "I will not contract with you. You should be ashamed to ask."

"That's not what I want." She let go of his paper and sat down next to him. He turned the page. "I'm done fighting," she said, "I'm not a fighter, never was. I like exploring, discoveries. I just want to see the Grail, to know its real. You can have it, the kids can have it, I don't really mind. But I want to know everything."

Berserker turned the page again.

"Now there's rogue mages running around, and clearly this thing isn't playing out like its meant to. I know you know something, and I want you to tell me what's going on."

"Go to the church," said Berserker, "The records there will be at least a bit enlightening."

"Thank you," said Marie, "I'll tell you if I discover anything."

"I'd appreciate that. You'll receive the same courtesy." He turned the page. "A word of advice, don't go to the temple ruins."

Marie frowned. "Why not? Lancer said there was some kind of anti-servant field. I should be able to get in. Maybe there's answers there."

"I'm sure there are," said Berserker, "That's why I'm warning you before you rush off. It's not safe, not for servants, not for humans. Bad things happened in that place. Even your spear will not save you." He glanced at the Lancer's weapon. It had not vanished with its owner, and Marie hadn't even realized she still had it. "Also, you may not want to carry that around town. You're attracting attention. Now if you'll pardon me, my train is here."

* * *

Nika had departed while the others were still fighting the magus. That fool Verlangien should have known better than to try to interfere with her. She hoped the other servants would be able to handle him. She had her own problem to deal with.

Even with a solid head start, no human can escape a servant determined to find her. She tried to lose her tail, doubling back, blending into crowds, even jumping from a bridge onto a moving bus, but Archer was persistent. He saw through her illusion spells as though they weren't even there, and the unmastered servant finally cornered her in a dark alley

The servant drew a pistol instead of his bow. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, waving it in front of her.

Nika stared at him haughtily. "It's a gun."

"Of course it is. It's enchanted, you know. We had to order it from halfway around the world. Picked it up in this very alley, in fact. It will shatter every magical shield you can devise. When it hits, it will destroy your nerve cells, one by one, moving toward your brain, saving it for last. No matter where you're hit, you die. Slowly. Painfully."

She didn't flinch. "That's nice. Do you know what this is?" She wasn't holding anything.

"What what is?"

"This. Me. Takanashi had records, I saw. Did you read them? Do you even know who I am?"

"I know very well who you are. I know you come from a small town in the north of this country. I know how many of your former idol friends you've left broken in your wake on your way to stardom. I know how many of your rivals you've driven insane to secure your spot on those irrelevant charts. I know you're Assassin's master, and I know what you did to mine."

Nika nodded. "And knowing all that, why did you think it was a good idea to follow me into a dark alley?"

He heard the gunshot from his left and leaped backwards, but the bullet had already hit. It had passed through the air faster than even a servant could move. Archer's brains splattered against the wall and he fell to the ground.

Nika picked up his gun and pocketed it. "At least this might be useful," she muttered, "What a waste."

* * *

The frozen burst of fire hovered in the air, unchanging. Handa paced back and forth across the small room, staying as far away from the ball of death as possible. Finally, he punched the wall in frustration. "We have to do something!"

"I agree," said Saber. They both looked to Kiriyama, but the girl was asleep. Her injuries were troubling her more than she let on, and Saber's leeching of mana wasn't helping. "We need to care take of this, quickly."

"Can we strengthen your spell?" asked Handa, "Make it permanent?"

"No. I don't believe so." He showed Handa the horn. "This is the _Horn of Overcoming Obstacles_. It has a divine nature, not a human one. I only provide it mana as a power supply."

"What if you gave it more mana, overloaded it?"

"I do not know. But I barely have enough to sustain it as it is."

"Can you get more?"

"It is possible," said Saber, "But it requires human sacrifice. I will not."

"Well, sitting here is just waiting to die. I'm going to go try to find an answer. If it's divine, maybe I can find something at the church. Don't blow everything up until I get back."

* * *

The lights in the hospital went out. Computers and monitors shut off, and the elevators lurched to a stop, trapping three nurses and a surgeon between floors.

Caster shattered the glass doors with a wave of his hand and marched into reception, trailing his cloak behind him. The security guard shouted at him, but Caster tore out his throat with a long, bony finger. The trail of his lifesblood hung in the air, then gathered and pooled on the servant's outstretched palm and was absorbed into his body.

People began to scream and flee. "Do not try to run," said Caster, "I have erected a boundary field. It is impossible to leave the building."

They didn't seem to understand him. It was a shame they'd spend their last moments wasting energy.

Rider materialized on the front desk. The already panicked receptionist shrieked and dove under her chair. "A boundary field? Well played, Roman. Pity they won't work on me." Rider jumped off the desk, and smoke began to whirl around his feet.

He stopped short of a swordpoint. "Not so fast, devil," said the Revenant. The smoke bucked wildly like an angry horse, then vanished. Rider nudged the sword aside slowly and took a step back.

Caster smiled. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Don't tell me your fool of a master got himself hurt."

"Hardly," said Rider, "He's at your house with a gun. Mortal weapons for mortal hands, I suppose. Did you really think we couldn't track down your base?"

"What!" Caster sputtered and spun about, ready to run, and Rudolph punched him in the face.

The magician shook his hand as Caster stopped, more surprised than hurt. "Man, you're tough."

Caster raised his arm, but Rider surged past the Revenant and blocked the blow intended for his master. Rudolph slipped away, jauntily. "You know, mate, for someone who calls himself magic, you don't know much about it You just fell for the basic tricks. Distraction, misdirection, and sleight of hand."

"Sleight of-" Caster reached into his robes and paused. "_Truth in the Written Word_!"

"Is that what you call this?" Rudolph paged through a thick, black book. "Mouthful of a name. Doubt it would even fit on the cover."

"You can't read it," said Caster, "It won't mean nothing to you without my knowledge to interpret it. Give it back.."

"Say please."

Caster looked at him like he was mad. From the looks of his grin, he probably was. Madmen, though, are often scarier than sane ones. "Please," he said."

"No."

"What? Don't be a fool."

"You already called me that. I think I'll hold onto this. Until I want something from you, anyway. Good luck killing the others for me."

Caster completely lost his poise. "What? But? You can't just-" The Revenant was attempting not to laugh. His efforts were admirable but fruitless.

"Come on Rider," said Rudolph, "We're leaving."

Rider whistled. The floor shook, and his mount materialized, rising up from the floor. The great elephant trumpeted as it broke through the ceiling into the second, and then third floor. It was bedecked with flowing red banners, and its left eye had been replaced with a treasure trove of lucre. The ivory in its tusks was scratched and marred by decades of warfare, every mark a reminder of heroes trampled underfoot. Rider stood on its back as it rose, clutching Rudolph's arm in one hand. The stage magician waved as they marched out of the broken building, passing through Caster's barrier field like it was nothing.

* * *

The records in the church were meticulous, through, and absolutely useless. The former priest, a man named Kotomine, had logged every day of his tenure from his appointment, apparently just after the Fourth Grail War, until just before the start of the Fifth. Far more valuable was the note left behind at the end. "Kotomine dead. Grail destroyed." The writing was in another, less careful hand, with no indication of its owner and no promise of further writings. The only other thing of value to Marie was the confirmation of the temple site as a powerful magical nexus.

The doors creaked open. She set down the last book and readied her spear. The weapon was strange and unfamiliar to her, but it would keep her alive against a servant. Maybe. She didn't really care to find out.

"Hello!" The voice that reached the adjoining library was dry and hollow, echoed off the vast walls of the nave. "Berserker? Are you there?"

"Berserker's not here," she called. She walked out to see the visitor. It was Handa.

"You," he said, "Why are you here?"

"I'm exploring," she said, "It's what I do. Why are you here?"

"Trying to save the city. Shouldn't you have been on the first plane out?"

"I don't run," said Marie, "Not until I have answers."

"Why?"

What kind of question was that? Might as well ask why birds fly. "It's what I do. Isn't that what life is? A search for answers? Why are you here? Why do you follow that girl? We all want to know things we don't."

"What if you don't like what you find?" Handa asked.

"Then I find something better. There's a lot of answers. There's a lot of truths. You can pick which ones you like if you know which ones there are. Is there a Grail? This note says it was destroyed, and I'll bet that old temple was involved. What's in the ruins? I aim to find out. Maybe its empty. Maybe the Grail is there. Maybe its something else. But that answer will lead to another question, whatever it is."

"Sounds like something Kiriyama would say. Not the phrasing, but the meaning."

"I could use a hand."

The boy hesitated. "Alright," he finally said, "I'll go with you."

* * *

Mishima woke up in his bed. It was still early in the morning, but not more sleep was forthcoming. His house was dark and lonely. He went outside and headed across the bridge to the city. The streets were cold, empty. The air was ominous, but he saw no sign of masters or servants.

The city proper was the same. There were a few lights on, an occasional car racing away on some perceived emergency, but the atmosphere of fear was constant. Mishima felt it calling, tugging at his heart and warning him to return home, where it was safe. But he knew that was a lie.

He reached the hotel and summoned the elevator. The night clerk gave him a blank look. The drab box carried him up to the 24th floor, where he found the doom.

Kiriyama was watching it intently. Saber sat on a chair, sweat careening down his brow. Maintaining the field was clearly causing him difficulty. He had his swords drawn, but they hung loosely from his fingers. Mishima nodded at him and he set the weapons down.

"This is it, huh?" he said, "It really hasn't changed."

"Of course it hasn't," said Kiriyama, "That's what stopping time means."

"It's not natural," he said, "You should break it."

"Death," muttered Saber. "It' death."

"So?" asked Mishima. Kiriyama stared at him like she'd been shot. "We're already dead," he said, "What, did you think when this was over you'd just go back to school, and we'll have club meetings and reminisce about that time half the city got killed? Our lives are over. This, this here, is just prolonging. While we wait, more people are being tortured. Might as well make it a clean end. Tell Saber to let it go."

Kiriyama shook her head. "I don't have to. If you break the seal, it'll explode. All you have to do is touch it." She stepped aside. "Go ahead. Do it. If you can."

Mishima rolled up his sleeve and stared into the fire. It was warm, a friendly sort of warm. He wanted to reach out, to touch it. He could feel it rolling over him already, bathing him in flame and burning away all the hatred. But he couldn't raise his hand.

"All right," he said, "You win." Kiriyama smirked. "But you know I'm right. None of us are coming out of this like before."

"I know," said Kiriyama, "But before was boring."

The elevator chimed.

* * *

Berserker materialized outside the door to Caster's house. "Caster!" he called, "I would have words with you!"

A rather plain looking man opened the door. "One moment, please," he said before shutting it again. Berserker almost took him for some conjured homunculus, but caught the red marks on his hand as he turned.

He waited patiently for a few minutes before Caster opened the door. "Walk with me," said the ancient wizard and he swept down the sidewalk. Berserker followed him, and the two servants walked down the long him in silence for some time.

"Well," said Caster, "Why do you seek to talk in the midst of war?"

"Is it a time of war?" Berserker asked, "You seem to show no desire to fight."

"Nor do you."

They walked some more.

"I do not trust the nature of this fight," said Berserker, "I see no sign of the promised prize. The only record that exists speaks of its destruction. Yet it must exist, for our presence here is predicated on that fact."

"And so we strive for the unknowable, in the hopes that it can be known." Caster stopped in front of a convenience store. "Let's go inside."

Berserker nodded. "So we do, the only question is the cost. How much would you sacrifice on a question?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

Caster picked up a frozen hamburger. "See this? This passes for food this days. People live simpler lives. I doubt many here have ever seen a cow, much less butchered one with their own hands. How many bodies have you seen lying in the street, dead and unburied, save for those we've caused? The world has moved on from us. This is a utopia. To quest for new things is no longer necessary."

"But you seek the Grail."

"I seek to save this world." Caster walked off with the burger. A brief wave of his hand made the cashier fall asleep before he could protest. The automatic doors slid open before the servants, and they walked into a world of fog.

"The Grail," continued Caster, "Is an agent of change. It breaks the very fabric of existence. Even the simple wish, even our very presence, tears apart the natural order of things. Tell me, Berserker, what would you use the Grail for?"

"A chance to live again."

"That was a quick answer."

"Do you mock me? I did not fear death in life, but I think now I would like to live in this world you adore so much."

Caster shook his head. "I do not mock. But what would that entail? What measure would your existence have? Would the Grail create parents for you, and for them, and so on out of nothingness? Or would you be born again to some other family, depriving their intended child of life? Or perhaps you would simply spring into being, an anomaly with no past. A monster. Is that a good thing? Everything ties together. Even the most powerful magic cannot create without destroying."

"I saw the hospital," said Berserker, "You've already murdered hundreds. Why do you fear destruction?"

People began to crowd around them in the fog. The street was no longer visible, just dark shapes pressing closer.

"Because sins may be destroyed as anything else. When I claim the Grail, or when any decent man claims the Grail, he shall use its power to undo the effects of the Grail War. The people will be alive, the town intact. The only cost is ourselves. No true hero could do anything but."

"You really believe that? That your endgame justifies it all?"

"Of course it does."

The crowd began to grow unnervingly close. Berserker's hand moved toward his sword.

"No," said Caster, "Do not fear them. We are among our own." He tossed his hamburger out in front of him and the people swarmed toward it. The dark shapes collapsed just shy of the meat, held back by a magical barrier. Caster raised his hands and shouted. "I seek Aias, son of Telamon. Come forth and claim your prize!"

* * *

"Kill me," said the Revenant. He dropped his short sword on the hotel floor and kicked it toward Mishima. He took raised his head, exposing his vulnerable neck.

"What?" asked Kiriyama, "Why?"

"Caster plans to release the spells." The Revenant spoke quickly. "He seeks now a shield to protect himself. Very soon he will order me to break your guard and destroy the city. I have no wish to perform such an act, but I am unable to disobey. My only recourse is death, but he has ordered me against suicide."

Mishima picked up the sword. It was short, about the length of his forearm, but the point and edges glinted with sharpness. It was light, much lighter than he had expected. He was quite convinced it would cut through any armor, even a servant's.

Saber struggled to his feet and held Mishima back. Even in his weakened state, he was able to pluck the sword away and toss it to the Revenant. "Pick it up," he whispered.

"No, you have to," protested the Revenant. "Everyone will die. More than the arena, more than in the old days."

"I will," promised Saber, "A man does not always chose his masters. It is unfortunate when a good man is forced into a bad situation. I will not have you die a beggar. Take up your sword and come at me. It will be quick and honorable."

The Revenant picked up his blade. "Thank you," he said. Then he twitched. "No!" His eyelids fluttered and his neck jerked. "No! Too late, stop me now!"

The Revenant leaped, not toward Saber but toward Kiriyama. The girl jumped back, and Saber had to tackle the Revenant to keep her safe. The two hit the ground and rolled apart. The Revenant stood first and moved toward the seals. Saber tried to stand, but Archer materialized in front of him.

The servant was coming to pieces. His clothes were tattered and worn, and a large part of his head was gone."Let me do this," he said.

* * *

The ghosts began to croon as they mulled about. They had realized the hamburger was inaccessible, but they stood around it, staring hungrily.

"What is this place?" asked Berserker.

"This," Caster said, "Is my greatest triumph, and my greatest failure. Tell me, what do you know of the Akashic Root?"

"A bit of wizardry. I was not concerned with such things."

"Hmmm.. in terms you would understand, then. It exists outside of time, outside of space. It is at the origin of all things, a center to the universe, and yet outside it. We come from there, as heroic spirits."

"Valhalla, then."

"I do not know that term," said Caster.

"It is said that brave warriors who fall in battle may be chosen by Odin. They are taken to Valhalla where they are reborn and fight, again and again, until the end of days."

"Essentially, yes."

"But that is not this place," said Berserker, "Valhalla is a great golden hall, full of mead and pork and warriors. Not this fog of ghouls."

"This is a flawed copy. One of my own design. These are the shades of heroes, brave ones all. Their true souls dwell on the throne of heroes. I doubt they have your earthly delights their, either, but I'll not argue the point. Their facsimiles lurk in my copy. It was not enough to make the utopia I dreamed of, but it seems it will be enough to preserve the one that was born instead. Look, here he comes, now."

The shades parted to let another approach. This shade was a head taller than the others, who were already Berserker's size. He stooped to grab the hamburger, and Caster let his barrier drop. The monstrous figure bit into it, and as he ate he became a man. Color flowed into the lines, and shadow gave way to flesh and cloth.

He swallowed the last bit of meat and belched heartily. "I accept your offering, wizard," he rumbled, "What would you have of me?"

"Serve me in my war until it is done or I release you from my service."

"I, Aias of Telamon, so swear."

"Then may your shield be a salve against all pains." Caster held out his hand, and Aias took it. The fog vanished, and the three heroes stood on an empty street.

Caster shut his eyes. "Do it. Now."

"No," said Berserker, "This is not the way to fight." He drew his sword.

Aias stepped between him and Caster. He had been summoned for one reason, and he called upon it now. His shield sparkled as it materialized in the air in front of him, glowing like all the neon lights in all the wrong alleys.

Berserker struck it anyway, and his sword shattered. His sighed and sat down. He crossed his legs and exhaled. The ground shook beneath him. Caster looked up nervously and called power to his hands.

The buildings shook, and a gust of wind roared down the street, tearing at Caster's robes. Aias's shield flitted about, waiting for the attack.

A great bear barreled down the street. It jumped over Berserker and ripped Aias in half with a single swipe of its claw. The shield shattered instantly, and the two halves of Aias melted into black sludge. Caster threw energy into the beast, and the bear bellowed, rearing up on its hind legs. It was massive, taller even then the large buildings. It landed back on all fours with a crash, and all the windows on the block shattered. Caster continued to hurl energy at it to no effect. He could only stare upwards as its massive jaw lurched down.

* * *

Archer stepped into the open field. A herd of horses broke and ran, racing just far enough to be out of range before stopping to graze again. He was no Rider, had no rapport with animals, and yet he always found himself dreaming of the open pasture, where the horses grazed.

Perhaps it was the simple life he liked, before he entered the company of heroes. No one asked a horse to take his teacher's place in useless war or called upon him to do more than his share. And if he did, a horse could always refuse.

The horses watched him warily, but he saw the recognition in their eyes. They knew him. After all, this was just his imagination. A construct, forged in his mind to idle away a decade on a rocky island. A simple life, until he war came back for him. They regretted leaving him behind then, even though he should have been dead. Some said Heracles had a dozen lives. Two was more than enough for any other hero.

He had used this place once before as a weapon. It had taken a trickster to think of that, and since then he hadn't been back. He feared it would be tainted, would have lost its serenity. It was time to redeem it.

Saber stepped into view behind him with his tiny band.

"What is this place?" asked the girl.

Saber whistled softly. "A reality marble. Don't touch anything."

A few dozen people appeared behind them, then a few uniformed hotel staff. They all paused and stared, and they stared, more of them appeared. Salarymen, schoolchildren, police officers and chefs.

The horses were gone now. This wasn't their place any more.

The shadows on Archer's face began to deepen, and his edges blurred. Reality shook.

The horses neighed, and car alarms began to go off.

The reality marble was gone. People emerged back where they had been before, but the city was destroyed. Every window had been busted open. Cars had spun out of control and crashed. Fallen wires cracked and buzzed, and smoke blotted out the sun.

Saber saw the Revenant's sword melt away after its master. He inhaled sharply and let out a long breath. His time spell was no longer necessary. The command spells had been released.

Fuyuki City was in ruins. But every person in it was alive.

* * *

Rudolph Thorn blinked back into existence in the aftermath of chaos. He had been sitting in a streetside cafe eating a hamburger and watching cars drive past. Now an upside-down car had replaced his table. Its owner was standing beside it, looking at the broken vehicle forlornly. Confused people stood in the street, not knowing what to do. A police officer scratched his head and stepped back as they turned to him for answers.

Rudolph had more reliable source. "What was that?" he asked.

"A reality marble," said Rider, materializing on top of the flipped car. No one noticed in the chaos. "And a big one. Whoever's it was, he isn't around anymore. Spending that much mana in one go will take out any servant."

"He didn't get us, though."

"I don't think he was trying. The destruction is something else."

The shopping mall to the left began to shake. The ramps on the parking garage loosened and collapsed, and then the whole structure shattered. A massive bear burst through the broken cement, bellowing loudly. The people who had been standing in shock screamed and fled.

"What..." started Rudolph.

"Berserker," Rider said the name as though it was a curse. "We need to get out of here. Now."

"No," The magician smiled, "T don't think so. Put on your nicest suit of armor. This is our stage."

Rider opened his mouth to protest, but Rudolph held up a hand. The red energy slipped down his wrist and raced through the air toward the servant. It wrapped around him as he called forth his armor, etching red energy along its grooves.

Rider began to rise into the air as his ancient steed appeared beneath him, and the energy suffused it too. Rudolph jumped on its trunk and the beast raised rim high above the crowd.

"Good everything, everyone," shouted the magician, "I am the amazing Rudolph Thorn! You've all seen magic tricks before, you've laughed, you've been amazed, but I promise you, you have never seen a show like this before!"

* * *

"Have you been down there before?" Marie asked, peering into the crater. The entrance itself was obscured by a pile of rubble, but she felt it calling her.

Handa shook his head. "No. No one comes up here. This place is... wrong."

"And that's why we need to find out what's in it. Come on." She scrambled down into the pit.

"Are you sure about this?"

"No," said Marie. "That's the point."

The world turned white. For a second, she thought she saw horses, but then his vision became normal again. Smoke began to billow from the city below.

Handa scramble down into the pit. "Let's do this fast." He peered into the cavern and turned on his flashlight. "It looks like there's a drop."

"I brought rope."

Marie tied off the rope and the two of them rappelled down until they found a passage. It wound its way in a vaguely circular pattern as it descended. Occasionally, it would branch. Marie would mark each junction with a piece of chalk and they would pick a side. Sometime it dead-ended,and they went back to take the other route. If it didn't, they kept going.

"How deep do you think we are?" asked Handa. His voice echoed off the rocky walls.

"No clue," said Marie, "We're inside a mountain, so probably still above ground level. Sssh!" She stopped and cupped a hand to her ear. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I thought I heard something, like someone whispering."

"I don't... wait" Handa dropped his voice to a whisper as well. "I hear it."

The two of them crept up to the next corner and leaned around carefully.

The path opened on a huge cavern. The ceiling vaulted high above, and sharp cliffs covered the sides. In the open center sat a woman, lit by candelabras in a circle around her. Another form lay sleeping in a similar circle adjacent.

"What do we do?" whispered Handa.

Marie paused. "What will you do?"

"What?"

"What do you want to do? All this time, you've been following. Following Kiriyama, following Saber, anyone who asks. Here." She handed him Lancer's spear. "I'm out of the war. You can be, too, if you want. You're not a master, not a servant. You can still go home and forget all this ever happened. Or not. But you have to choose yourself."

* * *

The bear charged. Rudolph leaped away as the elephant counter charged. The bear struck first, raking its claws through the elephant's ear. The elephant swung its head, and sparks jumped as its tusks scraped across the bear's snout.

The elephant pressed forward, using its bulk to overpower the bear, but the bear would not budge. It surged forward, pressing up under the elephant's head and lifting the massive creature off the ground with unearthly might.

Rider jumped away from his losing mount and let it vanish. The fog swirled around him as he soared through the air and dove down toward his foe. He landed on the back of the bear's hand, spun his sword around and thrust it at the base of the creature's spine. The weapon, an artifact forged of powerful magics, snapped.

The bear reared up on its hind legs. Rider stumbled and clutched for grip but couldn't find traction in the unbreakable fur. He rolled down the creature's back and fell to the street. Rudolph reached down and helped him stand while the bear lashed about wildly, striking futilely at Rider's fog.

"It's skin is unbreakable," said Rider, "Syphax could not breach it, not could I."

Rudolph knew that tone of voice. He had heard it from Donald, when he was proposing a new trick. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Saber. If anyone left alive has an anti-personal noble phantasm, it would be him."

"Go. Wait, hold on." Rudolph looked at the feral bear. The fog around it was beginning to thin. "Let me use your elephant. I'll lure him Point Alpha. Find Saber and meet us there."

"Very well. I shall make haste."

Rider dashed off in a blur. His elephant reappeared behind him. It knelt and allowed Rudolph to climb onto its back.

The bear howled, and the fog burst apart before its rage. It turned and glared at Rudolph, wild eyes burning with hatred. It bellowed again, and charged.

* * *

"Alright," said Handa, "I'll go. But I won't need this." He handed the spear back to Marie and stepped out into the clearing.

His footsteps echoes as he walked toward the sitting girl. As he neared, she became easier to see. She had long, white hair, a dull white that didn't seem to reflect the light at all. She looked small, but was wrapped in layers of leather and furs. It was a mark contrast to the second figure. Berserker lay beside her in his suit, unmoving. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest told Handa he was alive.

Handa cleared his throat, but neither of them moved. "Hello," he said, "Er, can you hear me?"

The woman's voice was softer than a whisper, but it swarmed through the caverns echoes and resounded as though she yelled. "I can hear a hummingbird swallow on the other side of the country. The two of you have not been stealthy, though I am surprised you came without your dog."

"He's busy elsewhere," said Handa.

"Please, sit down. Forgive me for not rising. I'm afraid I am not well."

Handa walked around until he could see her face. Her eyes were the same color as her hair. He sat down slowly, careful to avoid getting too close. "What did you do to Berserker?" he asked.

"Nothing. Rather, I brought him here after he fell asleep. It would not do to leave him lying in the road. I am his master, so I owe him my protection."

Marie stepped into the room. "So you're the last master."

"Last? No, the first. I started this war."

"Who are you?" asked Handa, "What are you?"

"My name is Herne," answered the girl, "I am Archer."

* * *

Rudolph rode the war elephant down the streets, the giant bear hot on his heels. He saw an overhead walkway and guided the elephant toward it. He smashed through the structure without slowing, but Rudolph reached into his pocket and pressed a button.

Fireworks shot out from the collapsing structure and exploded in front of the great bear. The creature bellowed and roared, and Rudolph gained a few meters.

He guided his steed around a corner and people scrambled out of the way. Thankfully the previous incident had already eliminated most of the traffic.

Rudolph could see the bridge now. The road sloped downward and he elephant barreled toward the structure. Gravity accelerated him over his already impressive running speed, but the bear was a force beyond nature. It leaped from above and landed on the elephant's back. The beast lost his footing. Rudolph jumped free as the animal crashed to the ground.

The elephant was pinned now, and the bear tore into it, clawing open its back and biting at the exposed flesh. Rudolph fled across the bridge.

A light in the sky caused him to look up. Rider hurtled down from above, carrying Saber in one arm and Saber's master in the other. He landed on the residential side of the bridge and held out his hand, throwing fog across the structure.

The fog rushed past Rudolph, and he saw the riders inside. Faceless creatures, less than human but more than air, riding the smoke itself as though it was a massive, many-backed horse. Then they were past, soaring toward the bear. The elephant gave one last, pitiful whine and dissipated.

Rudolph nodded at the servants. "Rider. Saber. Ma'am." Saber's master was craning her neck, trying to see the bear fight the fog creatures on the other side of the bridge. Her left sleeve was tied off. He wondered what had happened to her arm, but thought it best not to ask. "Pax," he said, "Let's fight after we take care of this, alright?"

Saber nodded. "Of course. Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet. Rider?"

His servant scowled. "My strongest attacks have proven fruitless. I can formulate something, but I need time."

Saber looked across the bridge. The bear was scattering the last of the fog. "I can buy us time," he said. He lifted his horn to his lips and blew. Rudolph clamped his hands to his ears. The note was louder, purer than anything he had heard before. Expect once, he realized, at the arena.

The bridge groaned. The supports cracked and buckled. The suspension wires snapped and slashed about. The towering red rails fell inward and the structure sank into the river.

Saber put the horn down and gasped. "We can't leave it to wreak havoc, but that should buy us a bit."

The bear growled at them from the opposite shore. Its fur rippled as it bent low. Then it jumped into the air, up and over the fallen bridge.

* * *

"This is where they killed it," said Herne, "The Greater Grail. Did you know that?"

Handa nodded. "We guessed that. But the war goes on."

"Have you ever seen a man die? I suppose you must have, in the last few days at least. Clean kills are the best, but more often than not it takes time for a person to bleed out. For a man, it can be minutes, even days. But the Grail is something higher. It is wounder, fatally, but is not yet lost."

Marie stepped out into the clearing. "But that doesn't explain why we're fighting. Or why you're Archer. We already met Archer."

"I'm not in your war," said this Archer, "I've merely adapted the Einzbern vessel to my own design." Marie and Handa looked at her blankly. "Perhaps I should explain. The heroic spirits dwell beyond this plane of existence. The Grail serves as something of a conduit, allowing us to be summoned into the seven classes for the war. Beyond that, we only appear when the world is in dire peril."

Marie nodded. "And you broke the system."

"I did. It is my nature. You would call it my Noble Phantasm – I cannot be held. Even the throne of heroes could not contain me, so I made a way out."

"Is it that horrible there?" asked Handa.

"Horrible? Not really. We are no conscious there, so its hard to say. And yet anything must be better than nothing at all."

Marie crossed her arms. "If you weren't conscious, how did you get out?

"I think it let me out," said Herne, "The Grail doesn't want to die. It let me escape so I could win this war and open up the passage between the worlds. Then it can exist forever, and heroes can pass as they will."

Handa shook his head. "You can't do that."

"Who are you to say? My servant is undefeatable."

"And what will you do in this world after you win? The servants are taking it apart. A few so-called heroes have been here for three days and the whole town is in flames."

"They were supposed to avoid human casualties," she muttered.

"I think the heroic spirits only appear when they're needed for a reason," said Handa, "They need something to occupy themselves, or they will become that reason. They're supposed to save the world, but all they really know how to do is destroy."

"That's not true."

"Then make them stop.

"I can't."

"Then people will keep dying," Handa said, "This city's already broken. I imagine when its gone, Berserker will go on to the next one, and another after that. I suppose that would be a world, fleeing from him constantly over the ruined wasteland. Is that really better than nothingness?"

A tear began to trace its way down Herne's cheek. "What would you have me do instead?"

"Stop Berserker."

"I cannot."

"Use the command spells."

"They won't help." She shifted her arm forward. The furs slipped off hr hand, revealing two red bars. Her body sagged as her weight shifted. "Berserker, stop," she whispered. The second bar fell from her hand. "Listen," she said.

Handa listened. The cavern was soundless. He thought, maybe, that he heard water running somewhere above, but it could have been the blood in his veins.

Herne was a supernatural creature, though. "He still fights," she said, "The command spells no longer have any power over him."

"How can he be here and there?" asked Marie, clutching her spear. "How about I stab him?"

"I''ll die,' said Herne, "I'm providing him mana while drawing my own from the Grail itself. If you break the chain, the feedback will destroy us both."

"And if she doesn't," says Handa, "The whole world will be destroyed."

Herne looked down. She lifted a leg and fell over. She pushed herself onto her knees and grabbed Handa's shoulders for support. "Give it to me," she whispered, "I owe him that much."

Marie looked at Handa, who nodded. She handed the spear to the heroic spirit. Herne used it as a crutch to hobble over to Berserker. "Goodbye," she whispered. She lifted the spear over his chest and let it sink slowly down.

Berserker spasmed, and blood dribbled from his mouth. His eyes slammed open. Herne smiled at him, and he closed them again. Then he faded from the world.

The spear clattered to the ground. Herne collapsed beside it. "Heh," she muttered, "Looks like I ended up saving the world anyway. You were right." Then she died.

* * *

The elevator opened and Mishima ran through the lobby, rushing against the swarm of people trying to get off the street. A tide of several larger people almost forced him back inside, but he found his way through the double doors and onto the street.

It was chaos. The streets were littered with car wrecks, and all the windows had been smashed. People had already started looting. He saw a police officer take a rock to the face and go down. He started to go help when he heard a motorcycle's engine rev.

"Hey!" called the rider, "Need a lift?" It was Assassin's master, the idol.

He hated himself for doing it, but he sat down behind her. Walking the streets now was suicidal. No more so than walking into a fight between Servants, but why take two dumb bets? "You know where to go?" he asked.

"They were headed for the bridge. This ought to be fun." The idol revved the engine again, and the bike lurched forward. People scattered out of her way as she drove along whatever surface was available.

The fight was over by the time they got there. Nika skidded to a stop where the road ended. The bridge had been yanked apart, and there was nothing left. He could see Rider and Saber on the opposite shore, breathing heavily. The bear had vanished. "We need to get across," said Mishima.

"No," said Nika. "This is fine. Do the magician first. I don't like him."

That didn't make any sense. "What?"

"The fake magician. Rudy whatever. Kill him, Assassin."

* * *

It was much easier to leave the cavern than it had been to enter. A small passage opened behind a bush near the bottom of the mountain. It had been impossible to see from the outside.

Handa looked across the city. The residential side of town had been father away, and so suffered less damage. Most of the cars had been parked, and the inhabitants had wisely chosen to stay inside. The devastation got progressively worse, however. The big bridge was completely gone, and beyond it the commercial district was in complete disarray. None of the buildings had fallen, but even Handa could see the fires starting to break out.

"We have to get back there," he said. Marie raised an eyebrow. "There are people in danger. We have to help them. Our war, our problem."

"It's not your-"

"Stop it." Handa said. "You told me to make a choice. I made it. Are you going to help me or take your pointy stick and go home?"

"You learn fast, kid," she said, "That one." She pointed at a red car parked on the side of the path. "Give me a minute to hotwire it."

"You can do that?"

"I can do a lot of things. You'll have to tell me which way to go, though. I don't know the roads."

* * *

"Well," said Rudolph, "That was interesting. Nice work, Rider."

"It wasn't me," said the servant, "Perhaps he ran our of mana."

"Or his master was killed," added Saber.

The bear was gone. It was disappeared in mid-leap, leaving only the broken city in its wake. "Couldn't he have just stopped?" asked Rudolph.

Both servants shook their hands. "To cut off such a powerful Noble Phantasm so suddenly?" said Rider, "Berserker's gone."

Kiriyama counted on her fingers, carefully compensating for her lack of digits. "That leaves three of you, right? Assassin?"

"He'll be easy enough to deal with when he find him," assured Saber, "So what say we don't draw this out overlong. Rider?"

"Are you sure, Saber?" Rider asked, "You've already used your Noble Phantasm today, and more from the looks of it. I can tell you're weakened."

"If you're frightened, just say so." Both servants had turned their swords on each other, and they began to stalk in a wide circle. Rudolph and Kiriyama stepped back out of the way. "You're just as bad off. This would be a fair fight."

"I hate fair fights," said Rider.

"Too bad."

They almost didn't hear the crack. Rudolph fell to his knees. He was holding something pink and runny in his hand. His mouth kept moving, and he managed a whisper. "But there was no showmanship..."

"No!" Rider yelled. "Assassin!" His face contorted. He grimaced, trying to access mana that was no longer there. He coughed and spat blood until the nothingness consumed him.

* * *

Assassin loaded a new bullet into his rifle. He remembered now. He knew how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill. He remembered the cold days in Berlin, the warm nights in Dallas, the long years in the jungle.

Across the shore, a car skidded to a stop beside his targets. Handa and Marie climbed out while Saber was shouting at them to hide. "I was never sure," said his master, "Which one is Saber's master?"

"Kiriyama," said Assassin, "The girl."

"Kill her."

He remembered, though. He remembered her helping him out of the dust when they were small children. He remembered walking with her and Handa, when they had been lost in Osaka for three whole days. He hesitated. Assassin's weren't supposed to hesitate.

"Do it," said Nika, "Do it now." He felt power compel him, felt the red itch pull at his trigger finger.

The gun went off. He didn't remember firing.

* * *

"Sniper!" Saber shouted as soon as Handa stepped out of the car.

"Handa, get down!" Kiriyama got up to yell. Handa saw what was about to happen before it did. He saw her shot, falling backwards, looking up at him helplessly. He couldn't let that happen, so he jumped in front of her.

He hit the ground hard and red filled his vision. He felt his head, and his hands came away bloody. He tried to stand, but his legs felt heavy.

Marie groaned and rolled off of him. She was bleeding badly from her side. Saber broke from cover and carried them both back behind the rubble.

Handa blinked. Or thought he did, but when he opened his eyes Kiriyama was kneeling in front of him and wiping his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I've died."

"Idiot," said Kiriyama, "You've just hit your head." She looked to the side and Handa followed her gaze. Saber was crouched near Marie. The Servant shook his head somberly. Handa shut his eyes. Another casualty to this mad war. At least it was almost over.

"Where's Mishima?" he asked, "Has anyone seen him?"

Kiriyama looked to Saber again, and Handa knew bad news was coming.

"Come on out, Saber," called Nika, "My pet has business with you."

* * *

"I'm not your pet," said Assassin.

"Fine," said Nika, "You're less than that. If you were my pet you would have made that shot."

"Mishima?" called Handa. His friend's voice was unsteady. "Get over here, there's a sniper!"

Nika laughed maniacally.

"Handa!" he called, "I'm sorry! Tell everyone I'm sorry!"

"He's not your friend!" screeched the idol, "He never was!"

"That's not true," protested Mishima, "I mean, sort of, but not really!"

Nika regained her composure somewhat, but couldn't resist gloating. "It's Assassin's Noble Phantasm," she laughed, "_Perfect Alibi_. A disguise so perfect even he doesn't know its a disguise! It can't be pierced because it can't be flawed!"

"Sorry, Handa," said Assassin, "The real Mishima died on the first day of the war."

"Don't be stupid," said Kiriyama, "You with with us during the war. Even if you are Assassin, we were friends for a bit. I don't think you could kill a friend." She stood up.

"She right," said Handa, "You can't kill us." Handa stood up, too. His friend, he still thought of him as a friend, was covered in blood. Kiriyama was covered in dirt and mud, and her loose sleeve flapped in the wind. It was a sorry sight.

He lifted his rifle and brought Kiriyama into his sights. She looked at him through the scope and smiled.

"I can't do it," he said, "You're right."

Saber exhaled heavily.

Nika was shaking. "You're my servant!" she raged, "You'll do as I say!" She lifted her hand, and her final command spell began to glow. "Assassin, kill!"

The assassin fired.

Nika collapsed on the ground without a word. Mishima looked at Kiriyama. "She should have phrased her order better. I suppose that means you win, then. Make sure the real Mishima gets a funeral, alright? I have other places to be."

He turned around and stepped into the aether.

* * *

"That's it, then," said Handa. "It's done."

An old cup appeared in air and clattered to the ground in from of Kiriyama. She picked it up, and it began to glow with a faint blue light.

"How does it work?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Saber. "You just wish, I suppose."

Kiriyama tossed it to Handa. "You take it."

"What?"

"I don't want it. I don't need it."

"You spent your whole life chasing after answers," said Handa, "Don't you want to know the truth?"

The girl waved the stump of her arm at the burning city. "Chasing the unknown is fun. But I'm not sure I like finding it very much. You wish for something. You did most of the work, anyway."

"Not me," said Handa, "I can't imagine anything coming out of this to be good. It's dying, and I'm inclined to let it. Saber?"

"I need that Grail, boy," growled the servant. He turned his swords to point at Handa, "Are you going to stop me?"

Handa picked up Marie's spear. "If I have to."

Saber nodded and sheathed his blades. "All I needed to know. I just wanted to know you were sure."

"Get rid of it,' said Kiriyama.

Handa turned and climbed onto a piece of broken bridge. He reared back and hurled the cup as far he he could into the river. It splashed into the dark water and immediately sunk.

"Good work," said Saber, "Both of you. I'm sorry this could not end better, but now I must take my leave." He saluted crisply, and a soft wind blew him away.

"Well," said Kiriyama, "What do we do now?"

* * *

Servant Statistics

* * *

**Class Saber**

Master Kiriyama Mako

True Name Joshua ben Nun

Alignment Lawful Good

Strength A

Endurance A

Agility C

Magical Energy B-

Luck B-

Noble Phantasm A+

* * *

**Class Archer**

Master Takanashi Hayao

True Name Philoctetes

Alignment Chaotic Neutral

Strength C-

Endurance A

Agility B-

Magical Energy C

Luck D-

Noble Phantasm C+

* * *

**Class Lancer**

Master Marie Collard

True Name Longinus

Alignment True Neutral

Strength C

Endurance C

Agility D

Magical Energy D

Luck C

Noble Phantasm B+

* * *

**Class Rider**

Master Rudolph Thorn

True Name Hannibal Barca

Alignment Chaotic Neutral

Strength B

Endurance B-

Agility C

Magical Energy B+

Luck B

Noble Phantasm B

* * *

**Class Caster**

Master Suzuki Kanya

True Name Publius Vergilius Maro

Alignment True Neutral

Strength F

Endurance D

Agility D

Magical Energy A+

Luck C

Noble Phantasm A

* * *

**Class Berserker**

Master Herne

True Name Bodvar Bjarki

Alignment Chaotic Good

Strength A-

Endurance B+

Agility B

Magical Energy D

Luck B

Noble Phantasm Ex

* * *

**Class Assassin**

Master Nika

True Name ? ?

Alignment Lawful Neutral

Strength C+

Endurance C

Agility B-

Magical Energy F

Luck A-

Noble Phantasm B-

End.


End file.
